r       jlw 


<-H- 


vAj-  -     •       \ 


\    &  -(■ 


POETICAL    WORKS 


OF 


ROBERT  BURNS 


CHICAGO 

THE  HENNEBERRY  COMPANY 
554  Wabash  Avenue 


•v    ...... 


COPYRIGHT.    1 9OI, 
BY  THE 

HENNEBERRY 

COMPANY 


EDUCATION  Dttfir* 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE. 


Robert  Burns  was  born  about  two  miles  to  the  south  of  Ayr,  in  the  neighbour* 
hood  of  Alloway  Kirk  and  the  Bridge  of  Doon,  on  the  25th  January,  1759.  The 
cottage,  a  clay  one,  had  been  constructed  by  his  father,  and  a  week  after  the  poet's 
birth  it  gave  way  in  a  violent  wind,  and  mother  and  child  were  carried  at  mid- 
night to  the  shelter  of  a  neighbour's  dwelling. 

When  Burns  became  famous  he  wore,  more  however  for  ornament  than  use — 
like  the  second  jacket  of  a  hussar— a  certain  vague  Jacobitism.  Both  in  his  verses 
and  his  letters  he  makes  allusion  to  the  constancy  with  which  his  ancestors  followed 
the  banner  of  the  Stuarts,  and  to  the  misfortunes  which  their  loyalty  brought  upon 
them.  The  family  was  a  Kincardineshire  one — in  which  county,  indeed,  it  can  be 
traced  pretty  far  back  by  inscriptions  in  churchyards,  documents  appertaining  to 
leases  and  the  like— and  the  poet's  grandfather  and  uncles  were  out,  it  is  said,  in 
the  Rebellion  of  171 5.  When  the  title  and  estates  of  the  Earl  Marischal  were 
forfeited  on  account  of  the  uprising,  Burns's  grandfather  seems  to  have  been  brought 
into  trouble.  He  lost  his  farm,  and  his  son  came  southward  in  search  of 
employment.  The  poet's  father,  who  spelt  his  name  Burnes,  and  who  was 
suspected  of  having  a  share  in  the  Rebellion  of  1745,  came  into  the  neighbourhood 
of  Edinburgh,  where  he  obtained  employment  as  a  gardener.  Afterwards  he  went 
into  Ayrshire,  where,  becoming  overseer  to  Mr.  Ferguson  of  Doonholm  and 
leasing  a  few  acres  of  land,  he  erected  a  house  and  brought  home  his  wife,  Agnes 
Brown,  in  December  1757.  Robert  was  the  firstborn.  Brain,  hypochondria,  and 
general  superiority  he  inherited  from  his  father ;  from  his  mother  he  drew  his  lyrical 
gift,  his  wit,  his  mirth.  She  had  a  fine  complexion,  bright  dark  eyes,  cheerful 
spirits,  and  a  memory  stored  with  song  and  ballad— a  love  for  which.  Robert  drew 
in  with  her  milk. 

In  1 766,  William  Burnes  removed  to  the  farm  of  Mount  Oliphant  in  the  parish 
of  Ayr ;  but  the  soil  was  sour  and  bitter,  and  on  the  death  of  Mr.  Ferguson,  to 
whom  Mount  Oliphant  belonged,  the  management  of  the  estate  fell  into  the  hands 
of  a  factor,  of  whom  all  the  world  has  heard.  Disputes  arose  between  the  official 
and  the  tenant.  Harsh  letters  were  read  by  the  fireside  at  Mount  Oliphant,  and 
were  remembered  years  afterwards,  bitterly  enough,  by  at  least  one  of  the  listeners. 
Burness  left  his  farm  after  an  occupancy  of  six  years,  and  removed  to  Lochlea,  a 
larger  and  better  one  in  the  parish  of  Tarbolton.  Here,  however,  an  unfortunate 
difference  arose  between  tenant  and  landlord  as  to  the  conditions  of  lease.  Arbi- 
ters were  chosen,  and  a  decision  was  given  in  favour  of  the  proprietor.     This 


544344 


vi  BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE. 

misfortune  seems  to  have  broken  the  spirit  of  Burnes.  He  died  of  consumption 
on  the  13th  February,  1784,  aged  63,  weary  enough  of  his  long  strife  with  poverty 
artd  ungenial  soils,  but  not  before  he  had  learned  to  take  pride  in  the  abilities  of 
his  eldest  son,  and  to  tremble  for  his  passions. 

Burnes  was  an  admirable  specimen  of  the  Scottish  yeoman,  or  small  farmer,  of 
the  last  century;  for  peasant  he  never  was,  nor  did  he  come  of  a  race  of  peasants. 
In  his  whole  mental  build  and  training  he  was  superior  to  the  people  by  whom 
he  was  surrounded.  He  had  forefathers  he  could  look  back  to;  he  had  family 
traditions  which  he  kept  sacred.  Hard-headed,  industrious,  religious,  somewhat 
austere,  he  ruled  his  household  with  a  despotism,  which  affection  and  respect  on 
the  part  of  the  ruled  made  light  and  easy.  To  the  blood  of  the  Burneses  a  love 
of  knowledge  was  native  as  valour,  in  the  old  times,  was  native  to  the  blood  of  the 
Douglasses.  The  poet's  grandfather  built  a  school  at  Clockenhill  in  Kincardine, 
the  first  known  in  that  part  of  the  country.  Burnes  was  of  the  same  strain, 
and  he  resolved  that  his  sons  should  have  every  educational  advantage  his  means 
could  allow.  To  secure  this  he  was  willing  to  rise  early  and  drudge  late.  Accord- 
ingly, Robert,  when  six  years  old,  was  sent  to  a  school  at  Alloway  Mill ;  and  on 
the  removal  of  the  teacher  a  few  months  afterwards  to  another  post,  Burnes,  in 
conjunction  with  a  few  of  his  neighbours,  engaged  Mr.  John  Murdoch,  boarding 
him  in  their  houses  by  turns,  and  paying  him  a  small  sum  of  money  quarterly. 
Mr.  Murdoch  entered  upon  his  duties,  and  had  Robert  and  Gilbert  for  pupils. 
Under  him  they  acquired  reading,  spelling,  and  writing;  they  were  drilled  in 
English  grammar,  taught  to  turn  verse  into  prose,  to  substitute  synonymous  ex- 
pressions for  poetical  words,  and  to  supply  ellipses.  He  also  attempted  to  teach 
them  a  little  Church  music,  but  with  no  great  success.  He  seems  to  have  taken 
to  the  boys,  and  to  have  been  pleased  with  their  industry  and  intelligence. 
Gilbert  was  his  favourite  on  account  of  his  gay  spirits  and  frolicksome  look. 
Robert  was  by  comparison  taciturn — distinctly  stupid  in  the  matter  of  psalmody 
— and  Ins  countenance  was  swarthy,  serious,  and  grave. 

Our  information  respecting  the  family  circle  at  Mount  Oliphant,  more  interesting 
now  than  that  of  any  other  contemporary  Scottish  family  circle,  is  derived  entirely 
from  the  reminiscences  of  the  tutor,  and  of  Gilbert  and  Robert  themselves.  And 
however  we  may  value  every  trivial  fact  and  hint,  and  attempt  to  make  it  a 
window  of  insight,  these  days,  as  they  passed  on,  seemed  dull  and  matter-of-faci 
enough  to  all  concerned.  Mr.  Murdoch  considered  his  pupils  creditably  diligent, 
but  nowise  remarkable.  To  Gilbert,  these  early  years  were  made  interesting  when 
looked  back  upon  in  the  light  of  his  brother's  glory.  Of  that  period,  Robert  wrote 
a  good  deal  at  various  times  to  various  correspondents,  when  the  world  had  become 
curious ;  but  as  in  the  case  of  all  such  writings,  he  unconsciously  mixes  the  past 
with  the  present— looks  back  on  his  ninth  year  with  the  eyes  of  his  thirtieth.  He 
tells  Us  that  he  was  by  no  means  a  favourite  with  anybody ;  that  though  it  cost  the 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE.  Mi 


master  some  thrashings,  "I  made  an  excellent  English  scholar ;  and  By  the  time  I 
was  ten  or  eleven  years  of  age,  I  was  a  critic  in  substantives,  verbs,  and  particles." 
Also  we  are  told  that  in  the  family  resided  a  certain  old  woman — Betty  Davidson 
by  name,  as  research  has  discovered — who  had  the  largest  collection  in  the  country 
of  tales  and  songs  concerning  devils,  ghosts,  fairies,  &c;  and  that  to  the  recital  of 
these  Robert  gave  attentive  ear,  unconsciously  laying  up  material  for  future 
Tarns-  O-Shanter,  and  Addresses  to  the  Deil.  As  for  books,  he  had  procured  the 
Life  of  Hannibal^  and  the  History  of  Sir  William  Wallace  ;  the  first  of  a  classical 
turn,  lent  by  Mr.  Murdoch,  the  second,  purely  traditionary,  the  property  of  a 
neighbouring  blacksmith,  constituting  probably  his  entire  secular  library  ;  and  in  a 
letter  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  he  describes  how  the  perusal  of  the  latter  moved  him, — 

"  In  those  boyish  days,  I  remember  in  particular  being  struck  with  that  part  of 
Wallace's  story  where  these  lines  occur  i 

Sync  to  the  Leglen  wood  when  it  was  late, 
To  make  a  silent  and  a  safe  retreat. 

I  chose  a  fine  summer  Sunday,  the  only  day  my  line  of  life  allowed,  and  walked 
half  a  dozen  miles  to  pay  my  respects  to  the  Leglen  wood,  with  as  much  devout 
enthusiasm  as  ever  pilgrim  did  to  Loretto,  and  explored  every  den  and  dell  where 
I  could  suppose  my  heroic  countryman  to  have  lodged." 

When  Mr.  Murdoch  left  Mount  Oliphant,  the  education  of  the  family  fell  on  the 
father,  who,  when  the  boys  came  in  from  labour  on  the  edge  of  the  wintry  twilight, 
lit  his  candle  and  taught  them  arithmetic.  He  also  when  engaged  in  work  with  his 
sons,  directed  the  conversation  to  improving  subjects.  He  got  books  for  them 
from  a  book  society  in  Ayr ;  among  which  are  named  Derham's  Physico  and  Astro- 
Theology)  and  Ray's  Wisdom  of  God.  Stackhouse's  History  of  the  Bible  was  in 
the  house,  and  from  it  Robert  contrived  to  extract  a  considerable  knowledge  of 
ancient  history.  Mr.  Murdoch  sometimes  visited  the  family  and  brought  books 
with  him.  On  one  occasion  he  read  Titus  Andronicus  aloud  at  Mount  Oliphant, 
and  Robert's  pure  taste  rose  in  a  passionate  revolt  against  its  coarse  cruelties  and 
unspiritual  horrors.  When  about  fourteen  years  of  age,  he  and  his  brother  Gilbert 
were  sent  "  week  about  during  a  summer  quarter  *  to  a  parish  school  two  or  three 
miles  distant  from  the  farm  to  improve  themselves  in  penmanship.  Next  year, 
about  midsummer,  Robert  spent  three  weeks  with  his  tutor,  Murdoch,  who  had 
established  himself  in  Ayr.  The  first  week  was  given  to  a  careful  revision  of  the 
English  Grammar,  the  remaining  fortnight  was  devoted  to  French,  and  on  his 
return  he  brought  with  him  the  Adventures  of  Telemachus  and  a  French  Dictionary -, 
and  with  these  he  used  to  work  alone  during  his  evenings.  He  also  turned  his 
attention  to  Latin,  but  does  not  seem  to  have  made  much  progress  therein,  although 
in  after-life  he  could  introduce  a  sentence  or  so  of  the  ancient  tongue  to  adorn  his 
correspondence.  By  the  time  the  family  had  left  Mount  Oliphant,  he  had  torn 
the  heart  out  of  a  good  many  books,  among  which  were  several  theological  works, 


viii  BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE. 

some  of  a  philosophical  nature,  a  few  novels,  the  Spectator,  Shakespere,  Pope's  Homer, 
and,  above  all,  the  Works  of  Allan  Ramsay.  These,  with  the  Bible,  a  collection  of 
English  songs,  and  a.  collection  of  letters,  were  almost  the  only  books  he  was 
acquainted  with  when  he  broke  out  in  literature.  No  great  library  certainly,  but  he 
had  a  quick  eye  and  ear,  and  all  Ayrshire  was  an  open  page  to  "him,  filled  with 
strange  matter,  which  he  only  needed  to  read  off  into  passionate  love-song 
or  blistering  satire. 

In  his  sixteenth  year  the  family  removedrfrom  Mount  Oliphant  to  Lochlea.  Here 
Robert  and  Gilbert  were  employed  regularly  on  the  farm,  and  received  from  their 
father  7/.  per  annum  of  wages.  Up  till  now,.  Burns  had  led  a  solitary  self-contained 
life  with  no  companionship  save  his  own  thoughts  and  what  books  he  could  procure, 
with  no  acquaintances  save  his  father,  his  brother,  and  Mr.  Murdoch.  This  seclusion 
was  now  about  to  cease.  In  his  seventeenth  year,  "  to  give  his  manners  a  finish  " 
he  went  to  a  country  dancing  school, — an  important  step  in  life  for  any  young  fellow, 
a  specially  important  step  for  a  youth  of  his_years,  heart,  brain,  and  passion.  In 
the  Tarbolton  dancing  school  the  outer  world  with  its  fascinations  burst  upon  him. 
It  was  like  attaining  majority  and  freedom.  It  was  like  coming  up  to  London  from 
the  provinces.  Here  he  first  felt  the  sweets  of  society,  and  could  assure  himself  of 
the  truthfulness  of  his  innate  sense  of  superiority.  At  the  dancing  school,  he  en- 
countered other  young  rustics  laudably  ambitious  of  "  brushing  up  their  manners," 
and,  what  was  of  more  consequence,  he  encountered  their  partners  also.  This  was 
his  first  season,  and  he  was  as  gay  as  a  young  man  of  fortune  who  had  entered  on 
his  first  London  one.  His  days  were  spent  in  bard  work,  but  the  evenings  were  his 
own,  and  these  he  seems  to  have  spent  almost  entirely  in  sweethearting  on  his  own 
account,  or  on  that  of  others.  His  brother  tells  us  that  he  was  almost  constantly 
in  love.  His  inamoratas  were  the  freckled  beauties  who  milked  cows  and  hoed 
potatoes;  but  his  passionate  imagination  attired  them  with  the  most  wonderful 
graces.  He  was  Antony,  and  he  found  a  Cleopatra — for  whom  the  world  were 
well  lost — in  every  harvest  field.  For  some  years  onward  he  did  not  read 
much ;  indeed,  his  fruitful  reading,  with  the  exception  of  Fergnsson's  Poems,  of 
which  hereafter,  was  accomplished  by  the  time  he  was  seventeen;  his  leisure 
being  occupied  in  making  love  to  rustic  maids,  where  his  big  black  eyes  could 
come  into  play.  Perhaps  "on  the  whole,  looking  to  poetic  outcome,  he  could  not 
have  employed  himself  to  better  purpose. 

He  was  now  rapidly  getting  perilous  cargo  on  board.  The  Tarbolton  dancing 
school  introduced  him  to  unlimited  sweethearting,  and  his  nineteenth  summer, 
which  he  spent  in  the  study  of  mensuration,  at  the  school  at  Kirkoswald,  made 
him  acquainted  with  the  interior  of  taverns,  and  with  "scenes  of  swaggering  riot." 
He  also  made  the  acquaintance- of  certain  smugglers  who  frequented  that  bare  and 
deeply-coved  coast,  and  seems  to  have  been  attracted  by  their  lawless  ways  and 
speeches.     It  is  characteristic,  that  in  the  midst  of  his  studies,  he  was  upset  by  the 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE.  ix 

N ii '  '■     ■    '  "    ■  *    i  in  1 1    i         i  '         *    in  1 1 1  i        iii         ,  i 

charms  of  a  country  girl  who  lived  next  door  to  the  school.  While  taking  the  sun's 
altitude,  he  observed  her  walking  in  the  adjoining  garden,  and  Love  put  Trigo- 
nometry to  flight.  During  his  stay  at  Kirkoswald,  he  had  read  Shenstone  and 
Thomson,  and  on  his  return  home  he  maintained  a  literary  correspondence  with  his 
schoolfellows,  and  pleased  his  vanity  with  the  thought  that  he  could  turn  a  sentence 
with  greater  skill  and  neatness  than  any  one  of  them. 

For  some  time  it  had  been  Burns's  habit  to  take  a  small  portion  of  land  from  his 
father  for  the  purpose  of  raising  flax ;  and,  as  he  had  now  some  idea  of  settling  in 
life,  it  struck  him  that  if  he  could  add  to  his  farmer-craft  the  accomplishment  of  flax- 
dressing,  it  might  not  be  unprofitable.  He  accordingly  went  to  live  with  a  relation  of 
his  mother's  in  Irvine^-Peacock  by  name — who  followed  that  business,  and  with  him 
for  some  time  he  worked  with  diligence  and  success.  But  while  welcoming  the  New 
Year  morning  after  a  bacchanalian  fashion,  the  premises  took  fire,  and  his  schemes 
were.  laid  waste.  Just  at  this  time,  too — to  complete  his  discomfiture — he  had  been 
jilted  by  a  sweetheart,  "who  had  pledged  her  soul  to  meet  him  in  the  field  of 
matrimony."  In  almost  all  the  foul  weather  which  Burns  encountered,  a  woman 
may  be  discovered  flitting  through  it  like  a  stormy  petrel.  His  residence  at  Irvine 
was  a  loss,  in  a  worldly  point  of  view,  but  there  he  ripened  rapidly,  both  spiritually 
and  poetically.  At  Irvine,  as  at  Kirkoswald,  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  persons 
engaged  in  contraband  traffic,  and  he  tells  us  that  a  chief  friend  of  his  "spoke  of 
illicit  love  with  the  levity  of  a  sailor — which,  hitherto,  I  had  regarded  with  horror. 
There  his  friendship  did  me  a  mischief."  About  this  time,  too,  John  Rankine — to 
whom  he  afterwards  addressed  several  of  his  epistles — introduced  him  to  St.  Mary's 
Lodge,  in  Tarboltqn,  and  he  became  an  enthusiastic  Freemason.  Of  his  mental 
states  and  intellectual  progress,  we  are  furnished  with  numerous  hints.  He  was 
member  of  a  debating  club  at  Tarbolton,  and  the  question  for  Hallowe'en  still 
exists  in  his  handwriting.  It  is  as  follows  : — w  Suppose  a  young  man,  bred  a  farmer, 
but  without  any  fortune,  has  it  in  his  power  to  marry  either  of  two  women,  the  one 
a  girl  of  large  fortune,  but  neither  handsome  in  person  nor  agreeable  in  conversation, 
but  who  can  manage  the  household  affairs  of  a  farm  well  enough ;  the  other  of  them 
a  girl  every  way  agreeable  in  person,  conversation,  and  behaviour,  but  without  any 
fortune ;  which  of  them  shall  he  choose  ?"  Not  a  bad  subject  for  a  collection  of 
clever  rustics  to  sharpen  their  wits  upon  !  We  may  surmise  that  Burns  found  himself 
as  much  superior  in  debate  to  his  companions  at.  the  Bachelors'  Club  as  he  Jiad 
previously  found  himself  superior  to  his  Kirkoswald  correspondents  in  letter- writting. 
The  question  for  the  Hallowe'en  discussion  is  interesting  mainly  in  so  far  as  it 
indicates  what  kind  of  discussions  were  being  at  that  time  conducted  in  his  own 
brain  ;  and  also  how  habitually,  then  and  afterwards,  his  thinking  grew  out  of  his 
personal  condition  and  surroundings.  A  question  of  this  kind  interested  him  more 
than  whether,  for  instance,  Cromwell  deserved  well  of  his  country.  Neither  now 
nor  afterwards  did  he  trouble  himself  much  about  far-removed  things.     He  cared 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE. 


for  no  other  land  than  Caledonia.  He  did  not  sing  of  Helen's  beauty,  but  of  the 
beauty  of  the  country  girl  he  loved.  His  poems  were  as  much  the  product  of  his 
own  farm  and  its  immediate  neighbourhood,  as  were  the  clothes  and  shoes  he  wore, 
the  oats  and  turnips  he  grew.  Another  aspect  of  him  may  be  found  in  the  letter 
addressed  to  his  father  three  days  before  the  Irvine  flax-shop  went  on  fire.  It  is 
infected  with  a  magnificent  hypochondriasis.  It  is  written  as  by  a  Bolingbroke — 
by  a  man  who  had  played  for  a  mighty  stake,  and  who,  when  defeated,  could  smile 
gloomily  and  turn  fortune's  slipperiness  into  parables.  And  all  the  while  the  dark 
philosophy  and  the  rolling  periods  flowed  from  the  pen  of  a  country  lad,  whose 
lodgings  are  understood  to  have  cost  a  shilling  per  week,  and  "  whose  meal  was 
nearly  out,  but  who  was  going  to  borrow  till  he  got  more. "  One  other  circumstance 
attending  his  Irvine  life  deserves  notice — his  falling  in  with  a  copy  of  Fergus  son's 
Poems,  For  some  time  previously  he  had  not  written  much,  but  Fergusson  stirred 
him  with  emulation ;  and  on  his  removal  to  Mossgiel,  shortly  afterwards,  he  in  a 
single  winter  poured  forth  more  immortal  verse — measured  by  mere  quantity — than 
almost  any  poet  in  the  same  space  of  time,  either  before  his  day  or  after. 

Three  months  before  the  death  of  the  elder  Burnes,  Robert  and  Gilbert 
rented  the  farm  of  Mossgiel  in  the  parish  of  Mauchline.  The  farm  consisted 
of  119  acres,  and  its  rent  was  90/.  After  the  father's  death  the  whole  family 
removed  thither.  Burns  was  now  twenty-four  years  of  age,  and  come  to  his  full 
strength  of  limb,  brain,  and  passion.  As  a  young  farmer  on  his  own  account, 
he  mixed  more  freely  than  hitherto  in  the  society  of  the  country-side,  and  in  a 
more  independent  fashion.  He  had  the  black  eyes  which  Sir  Walter  saw  after- 
wards in  Edinburgh  and  remembered  to  have  "glowed."  He  had  wit,  which 
convulsed  the  Masonic  Meetings,  and  a  rough-and-ready  sarcasm  with  which  he 
flayed  his  foes.  Besides  all  this,  his  companionship  at  Irvine  had  borne  its  fruits. 
He  had  become  the  father  of  an  illegitimate  child,  had  been  rebuked  for  his 
transgression  before  the  congregation,  and  had,  in  revenge,  written  witty  and 
wicked  verses  on  the  reprimand  and  its  occasion,  to  his  correspondent  Rankine. 
And  when  we  note  here  that  he  came  into  fierce  collision  with  at  least  one  section 
of  the  clergy  of  his  country,  all  the  conditions  have  been  indicated  which  went  to 
make  up  Burns  the  man,  and  Burns  the  poet. 

Ayrshire  was  at  this  period  a  sort  of  theological  bear-garden.  The  more  im- 
portant clergymen  of  the  district  were  divided  into  New  Lights  and  Auld  Lights  ; 
they  wrangled  in  Church  Courts,  they  wrote  and  harangued  against  each  other ; 
and,  as  the  adherents  of  the  one  party  or  the  other  made  up  almost  the  entire 
population,  and  as  in  such  disputes  Scotchmen  take  an  extraordinary  interest, 
the  county  was  set  very  prettily  by  the  ears.  The  Auld  Light  divines  were  strict 
Calvinists,  laying  great  stress  on  the  doctrine  of  Justification  by  Faith,  and  inclined 
generally  to  exercise  spiritual  authority  after  a  somewhat  despotic  fashion.  The 
New  Light  divines  were  less  dogmatic,  less  inclined  to  religious  gloom  and  acerbity, 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE.  xl 


and  they  possessed,  on  the  whole,  more  literature  and  knowledge  of  the  worlcf. 
Burns  became  deeply  interested  in  the  theological  warfare,  and  at  once  ranged  him- 
self on  the  liberal  side.  From  his  being  a  poet  this  was  to  have  been  expected,  but 
various  circumstances  concurred  in  making  his  partisanship  more  than  usually 
decided.  The  elder  Burnes  was,  in  his  ways  of  thinking,  a  New  Light,  and  his 
religious  notions  he  impressed  carefully  on  his  children — his  son  consequently,  in 
taking  up  the  ground  he  did,  was  acting  in  accordance  with  received  ideas  and  with 
early  training.  Besides,  Burns's  most  important  friends  at  this  period— Mr.  Gavin 
Hamilton,  from  whom  he  held  his  farm  on  a  sub-lease,  and  Mr.  Aitken,  to 
whom  the  Cotters  Saturday  Night  was  dedicated— were  in  the  thick  of  the  contest 
on  the  New  Light  side.  Mr.  Hamilton  was  engaged  in  personal  dispute  with  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Auld — the  clergyman  who  rebuked  Burns— and  Mr.  Aitken  had  the 
management  of  the  case  of  Dr.  MacGiil,  who  was  cited  before  the  local  Church 
Courts  on  a  charge  of  heterodoxy.  Hamilton  and  Aitken  held  a  certain  position 
in  the  county— they  were  full  of  talent,  they  were  hospitable,  they  were  witty  in 
themselves,  and  could  appreciate  wit  in  others.  They  were  of  higher  social  rank 
than  Burns's  associates  had  hitherto  been,  they  had  formed  a  warm  friendship  for 
him,  and  it  was  not  unnatural  that  he  should  become  their  ally,  and  serve  their 
cause  with  what  weapons  he  had.  Besides,  wit  has  ever  been  a  foe  to  the  Puritan. 
Cavaliers  fight  with  song  and  jest,  as  well  as  with  sword  and  spear,  and  sometimes 
more  effectively.  Hudibras  and  Worcester'  are  flung  into  opposite  scales,  and 
make  the  balance  even.  From  training  and  temperament,  Burns  was  an  enemy  of 
the  Auld  Light  section  ;  conscious  of  his  powers,  and  burning  to  distinguish  himself, 
he  searched  for  an  opportunity  as  anxiously  as  ever  did  Irishman  for  a  head  at 
Donnybrook,  and  when  he  found  it,  he  struck,  without  too  curiously  inquiring  into 
the  rights  and  wrongs  of  the  matter.  At  Masonic  Meetings,  at  the  tables  of  his 
friends,  at  fairs,  at  gatherings  round  church-doors  on  Sundays,  he  argued,  talked, 
joked,  flung  out  sarcasms — to  be  gathered  up,  repeated  and  re-repeated — and  mad- 
dened in  every  way  the  wild-boar  of  orthodoxy  by  the  javelins  of  epigram.  The 
satirical  opportunity  at  length  came,  and  Burns  was  not  slow  to  take  advantage  of 
it.  Two  Auld  Light  divines,  the  Rev.  John  Russel  and  the  Rev.  Alex.  Moodie, 
quarrelled  about  their  respective  parochial  boundaries,  and  the  question  came 
before  the  Presbytery  for  settlement.  In  the  court — when  Burns  was  present — the 
reverend  gentlemen  indulged  in  coarse  personal  altercation,  and  the  Twa  Herds 
was  the  result.  Copies  of  this  satire  were  handed  about,  and  for  the  first  time 
Burns  tasted  how  sweet  a  thing*  was  applause.  The  circle  of  his  acquaintances 
extended  itself,  and  he  could  now  call  several  clergymen  of  the  moderate  party  his 
friends.  The  Twa  Herds  was  followed  by  the  tremendous  satire  of  Holy  Willie's 
Prayer,  and  by  the  Holy  Fair— the  last  equally  witty,  equally  familiar  in  its  allu- 
sions to  sacred  things,  but  distinguished  by  short  poetic  touches,  by  descriptions  of 
character  and  manners,  unknown  in  Scottish  poetry  since  the  days  of  Dunbar. 


xii  BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE. 

These  pieces  caused  great  stir;  friends  admired  and  applauded;  foes  hated  and 
reviled.  His  brother  Gilbert  spoke  words  of  caution  which,  had  Burns  heeded,  it 
would  have  been  better  for  his  fame.  But  to  check  such  thunder  in  mid-volley  was, 
perhaps,  more  than  could  have  been  expected  of  poetic  flesh  and  blood. 

Burns  interested  himself  deeply  in  the  theological  disputes  of  his  district,  but  he 
did  not  employ  himself  entirely  in  writing  squibs  against  that  section  of  the  clergy 
which  he  disliked.  He  had  already  composed  Mailie's  Elegy  and  the  Epistle  to  Davie 
—the  first  working  in  an  element  of  humour  ennobled  by  moral  reflection,  a  peculiar 
manner  in  which  he  lived  to'  produce  finer  specimens ;  the  second  almost  purely 
didactic,  and  which  he  hardly  ever  surpassed — and  as  he  was  now  in  the  full  flush 
of  inspiration,  every  other  day  produced  its  poem.  He  did  not  go  far  a-field  for 
his  subjects ;  he  fourid  sufficient  inspiration  in  his  daily  life  and  the  most  familiar 
objects.  The  schoolmaster  of  Tarbolton  had  established  a  shop  for  groceries,  and 
having  a  liking  for  the  study  of  medicine,  he  took  upon  himself  the  airs  of  a  physi- 
cian, and  advertised  that  "advice  would  be  given  in  common  disorders,  at'  the 
shop,  gratis."  On  one  occasion,  at  the  Tarbolton  Mason-lodge,  when  Burns  was 
present,  the"  schoolmaster  made  a  somewhat  ostentatious  display  of  his  medical 
acquirements.  To  a  man  so  easily  moved  as  Bums,  this  hint  was  sufficient  On 
his  way  home  from  the  Lodge  the  terrible  grotesquerie  of  Death  and  Dr.  Hornbook 
floated  through  his  mind,  and  on  the  following  afternoon  the  verses  wefe  repeated 
to  Gilbert.  Not  long  after,  in  a  Sunday  afternoon  walk,  he  recited  to  Gilbert  the 
Cotter's  Saturday  Night*  who  described  himself  as  electrified  by  the  recital— as 
indeed  he  might  well  be.  To  Gilbert  also  the  Address  to  the  Deil  was  repeated 
while  the  two  brothers  were  engaged  with  their  carts  in  bringing  home  coals  for 
family  use.  .At  this  time,  too,  his  poetic  Epistles  to  Lapraik  and  others  were  com- 
posed— pieces  which  for  verve  and  hurry  and  gush  of  versification  seem  to  have 
been  written  at  a  sitting,  yet  for  curious  felicities  of  expression  might  have  been 
under  the  file  for  years.  It  was  Burns's  habit,  Mr.  Chambers  tells  us,  to  keep  his 
MSS.  in  the  drawer  of  a  little  deal  table  in  the  garret  at  Mossgiel;  and  his 
youngest  sister  was  wont,  when  he  went  out  to  afternoon  labour,  to  slip  up  quietly 
and  hunt  for  the  freshly- written  verses.  Indeed,  during  the  winter  of  1785-86 
Burns  wrote  almost  all  the  poems  which  were  afterwards  published  in  the  Kilmar- 
nock edition. 

But  at  this  time  he  had  other  matters  on  hand  than  the  writing  of  verses. 
The  farm  at  Mossgiel  was  turning  out  badly;  the  soil  was  sour  and  wet,  and, 
from  mistakes  in  the  matter  of  seed,  the  crops  were  failures.  His  prospects 
were  made  still  darker  by  his  relation  with  Jean  Armour.  He  had  made  the 
acquaintance  of  this  young  woman  at  a  penny  wedding  in  Mauchline,  shortly  after 
he  went  to  reside  at  ^1  ossgiel,  and  the  acquaintanceship,  on  his  part  at  least,  soon 
ripened  into  passion.  In  the  spring  of  1 786,  when  baited  with  farming  difficulties, 
he  learned  that  Jean  was  about  to  become  a  mother,  and  the  intelligence  came  on 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE.  xiii> 

him  like  a  thunder-clap.  Urged  by  a  very  proper  feeling,  he  resolved  to  make  the 
unhappy  young  woman  all  the  reparation  in  his  power,  and  accordingly  he  placed 
in  her  hands  a  written  acknowledgment  of  marriage— a  document  sufficient  by  the 
law  of  Scotland  to  legalize  their  connexion,  though  after  a  somewhat  irregular 
fashion.  When  Mr.  Armour  heard  of  Jean's  intimacy  with  Burns  and  its  miserable 
result,  he  was  moved  with  indignation,  and  he  finally  persuaded  her  to  deliver  into 
his  hands  Burns's  written  paper,  and  this  document  he  destroyed,  although,  for 
anything  he  knew,  he  destroyed  along  with  it  his  daughter's  good  fame.  Burns's 
feelings  at  this  crisis  may  be  imagined.  Pride,  love,  anger,  despair,  strove  for 
mastery  in  his  breast.  Weary  of  his  countiy,  almost  of  his  existence,,  and  seeing 
ruin  staring  him  in  the  face  at  Mossgiel,  he  resolved  to  seek  better  fortune  and 
solace  for  a  lacerated  heart,  in  exile.  He  accordingly  arranged  with  Dr.  Douglas 
to  act  as  book-keeper  on  his  estate  in  Jamaica.  In  order  to  earn  the  passage 
money,  he  was  advised  to  publish  the  wonderful  verses  then  lying  in  the  drawer  of 
the  deal  table  at  Mossgiel.  This  advice  jumped  pleasantly  enough  with  his  own 
wishes,  and  without  loss  of  time  he  issued  his  subscription  papers  and  began  to 
prepare  for  the  press.  He  knew  that  his  poems  possessed  merit  \  he  felt  that 
applause  would  sweeten  his  "goodnight."  It -is  curious  to  think  of  Burns's 
wretched  state — in  a  spiritual  as  well  as  a  pecuniary  sense — at  this  time,  and  of  the 
centenary  the  other  year  which  girdled  the  planet  as  with  a  blaze  of  festal  fire 
and  a  roll  of  triumphal  drums !  Curious  to  think  that  the  volume  which  Scotland 
regards  as  the  most  precious  in  her  possession  should  have  been  published  to  raise 
nine  pounds  to  carry  its  author  into  exile  ! 

All  the  world  has  heard  of  Highland  Mary— in  life  a  maid-servant  in  the  family 
of  Mr.  Hamilton,  after  death  to  be-  remembered  with  Dante's  Beatrice  and 
Petrarch's  Laura.  How  Burns  and  Mary  became  acquainted  we  have  little  means 
of  knowing— indeed  the  whole  relationship  is  somewhat  obscure-^-but  Burns  loved 
her  as  he  loved  no  other  woman,  and  her  memory  is  preserved  in  the  finest 
expression  of  his  love  and  grief.  Strangely  enough,  it  seems  to  have  been  in  the 
fierce  rupture  between,  himself  and  Jean  that  this  white  flower  of  love  sprang  up, 
sudden  in  its  growth,  brief  in  its  passion  and  beauty.  It  was  arranged  that  the 
lovers  should  become  man  and  wife,  and  that  Mary  should  return  to  her  friends  to 
prepare  for  her  wedding.  Before  her  departure  there  was  a  farewell  scene.  "  On 
the  second  Sunday  of  May,"  Burns  writes  to  Mr.  Thomson,  after  an  historical 
fashion  which  has  something  touching  in  it,  "in  a  sequestered  spot  on  the  banks 
of  the  Ayr  the  interview  took  place."  The  lovers  met  and  plighted  solemn  troth. 
According  to  popular  statement,  they  stood  on  either  side  of  a  brook,  they  dipped 
their  hands  in  the  water,  exchanged  Bibles — and  parted.  Mary  died  at  Greenock, 
and  was  buried  in  a  dingy  churchyard  hemmed  by  narrow  streets — beclanged  now 
[by  innumerable  hammers,  and  within  a  stone's  throw  of  passing  steamers.  Informa- 
tion of  her  death  was  brought  to  Bums  at  Mossgiel ;  he  went  to  the  window  to 


xiv  BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE. 

read  the  letter,  and  the  family  noticed  that  on  a  sudden  his  face  changed.  He  went 
out  without  speaking ;  they  respected  his  grief  and  were  silent.  On  the  whole 
matter  Burns  remained  singularly  reticent ;  but  years  after,  from  a  sudden  geysir  of 
impassioned  song,  we  learn  that  through  all  that  time  she  had  never  been  forgotten. 

Jean  was  approaching  her  confinement,  and  having  heard  that  Mr.  Armour  was 
about  fo  resort  to  legal  measures  to  force  him  to  maintain  his  expected  progeny — 
an  impossibility  in  his  present  circumstances — Burns  left  Mauchline  and  went  to 
reside  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Kilmarnock,  where,  in  gloomy  mood  enough,  he 
corrected  his  proof  sheets.  The  volume  appeared  about  the  end  of  July,  and, 
thanks  to  the  exertions  of  his  friends,  the  impression  was  almost  immediately 
exhausted.  Its  success  was  decided.  All  Ayrshire  rang  with  its  praise.  His 
friends  were  of  course  anxious  that  he  should  remain  in  Scotland ;  and  as  they 
possessed  some  influence,  he  lingered  in  Ayrshire,  loth  to  depart,  hoping  that 
something  would  turn  up,  but  quite  undecided  as  to  the  complexion  and  nature  of 
the  desired  something.  Wronged  as  he  considered  himself  to  have  been  by  the 
Armour  family,  he  was  still  conscious  of  a  lingering  affection  for  Jean.  The  poems 
having  made  a  conquest  of  Ayrshire,  began  to  radiate  out  on  every  side.  Professor 
Dtigald  Stewart,  then  resident  at  Catrine,  had  a  copy  of  the  poems,  and  Dr. 
Blair,  who  was  on  a  visit. to  the  professor,  had  his  attention  drawn  to  them,  and 
expressed  the  warmest  admiration.  Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop  on  opening  the  book 
had  been  electrified  by  the  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  as  Gilbert  had  been  before  her, 
and  immediately  sent  an  express  to  Burns  at  Mossgiel  with  a  letter  of  praise  and 
thanks.  All  this  was  pleasant  enough,  but  it  did  not  materially  mend  the  situation. 
Burns  could  not  live  on  praise  alone,  and  accordingly,  so  soon  as  he  could  muster 
nine  guineas  from  the  sale  of  his  book,  he  took  a  steerage  passage  in  a  vessel  which 
was  expected  to  sail  from-Greenock  at  the  end  of  September.  During  the  month  of 
August  he  seems  to  have  employed  himself  in  collecting  subscriptions,  and  taking 
farewell  of  his  friends.  Bums  was  an  enthusiastic  mason,  and  we  can  imagine 
that  his  last  meeting  with  the  Tarbolton  Lodge  would  be  a  thing  to  remember.  It 
was  remembered,  we  learn  from  Mr.  Chambers,  by  a  surviving  brother,  John  Lees. 
John  said,  "that  Burns  came  in  a  pair  of  buckskins,  out  of  which  he  would  always 
pull  the  other  shilling  for  the  other  bowl,  till  it  was  five  in  the  morning.  An 
awfu'  night  that"  Care  left  outside  the  door,  we  can  fancy  how  the  wit  would 
flash,  and  the  big  black  eyes  glow,  on  such  an  occasion  ! 

The  first  edition  of  his  poems  being  nearly  exhausted,  his  friends  encouraged  him 
to  produce  a  second  forthwith  ;  but  on  application,  it  was  found  that  the  Kilmar- 
nock printer  declined  to  undertake  the  risk,  unless  the  price  of  the  paper  was 
advanced  beforehand.  This  outlay  Burns  was  at  this  time  unable  to  afford.  On 
hearing  of  the  circumstance,  his  friend  Mr.  Ballantyne  offered  to  advance  the 
money,  but  urged  him  to  proceed  to  Edinburgh  and  publish  the  second  edition 
there.     This  advice  commended  itself  to  Burns's  ambition,  but  for  a  while  he 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE.  xv 

remained  irresolute..  Jean,  meanwhile,  had  been  confined  of  twins,  and  from  one 
of  his  letters  we  learn  that  the  "feelings  of  a  father"  kept  him  lingering  in 
Ayrshire.  News  of  the  success  of  his  poems  came  in  upon  him  on  every  side. 
Dr.  Lawrie,  minister  of  Loudon,  to  whose  family  he  had  recently  paid  a  visit,  had 
forwarded  a  copy  of  the  poems,  with  a  sketch  of  the  author's  life,  to  Dr.  Thomas 
Blacklock,  and  had  received  a  letter  from  that  gentleman,  expressing  the  warmest 
admiration  of  the  writer's  genius,  and  urging  that  a  second  and  larger  edition 
should  at  once  be  proceeded  with ;  adding,  that  "  its  intrinsic  merits,  and  the 
exertions  of  the  author's  friends,  might  give  the  volume  a  more  universal  circulation 
than  anything  of  the  kind  which  has  been  published  in  my  time."  This  letter,  so 
full  of  encouragement,  Dr.  Lawrie  carried  at  once  to  Mr.  Gavin  Hamilton,  and  Mr. 
Hamilton  "lost  no  time  in  placing  it  in  Burns:s  hands.  The  poems  had  been 
favourably  reviewed  in  the  Edinburgh  Magazine  for  October,  and  this  number  of 
the  periodical,  so  interesting  to  all  its  inmates,  would,  no  doubt,  find  its  way  to 
Mossgiel.  Burns  seems  to  have  made  up  his  mind  to  proceed  to  Edinburgh  about 
the  1 8th  November,  a  step  which  was  warmly  approved  by  his  brother  Gilbert; 
and  when  his  resolution  was  taken,  he  acted  upon  it  with  promptitude. 

He  reached  Edinburgh  on  the  28th  November,  1786,  and  took  up  his  residence 
with  John  Richmond,  a  Mauchline  acquaintance,  who  occupied  a  room  in  Baxter's 
Close,  Lawnmarket,  for  which  he  paid  three  shillings  a  week.  Burns  for  some  time 
after  his  arrival  seems  to  have  had  no  special  object ;  he  wandered  about  the  city, 
looking  down  from  the  Castle  on  Princes  Street ;  haunting  Holyrood  Palace  and 
Chapel ;  standing  with  cloudy  eyelid  and  hands  meditatively  knit  beside  the  grave 
of  Fergusson  ;  and  from  the  Canongate  glancing  up  with  interest  on  the  quaint  tene- 
ment in  which  Allan  Ramsay  kept  his  shop,  wrote  his  poems,  and  curled  the  Wigs 
of  a  departed  generation  of  Scotsmen.  At  the  time  of  Burns's  arrival,  the  Old  Town 
towered  up  from  Holyrood  to  the  Castle,  picturesque,  smoke- wreathed ;  and  when 
the  darkness  came,  its  climbing  tiers  of  lights  and  cressets  were  reflected  in  the  yet 
existing  Nor'  Loch  ;  and  the  grey  uniform  streets  and  squares  of  the  New  Town — 
from  which  the  visitor  to-day  can  look  down  on  low  wooded  lands,  the  Forth,  and 
Fife  beyond — were  only  in  course  of  erection.  The  literary  society  of  the  time  was 
brilliant  but  exotic,  like  the  French  lily  or  the  English  rose.  For  a  generation  and 
more  the  Scottish  philosophers,  historians,  and  poets  had  brought  their  epigram 
from  France  as  they  brought  their  claret,  and  their  humour  from  England  as  they 
brought  their  parliamentary  intelligence.  Blair  of  the  Grave  was  a  Scottish  Dr. 
Young  ;  Home  of  Douglas  a  Scottish  Otway  ;  Mackenzie  a  Scottish  Addison  ;  and 
Dr.  Blair — so  far  as  his  criticism  was  concerned— a  sort  of  Scottish  Dr. 'Johnson. 
The  Scotch  brain  was  genuine  enough  ;  the  faculty  was  native,  but  it  poured  itself 
into  foreign  moulds.  The  literary  grandees  wore  decorations — honestly  earned — 
but  no  one  could  discover  amongst  them  the  Order  of  the  Thistle.  These  men, 
too,    had    done  their  work,    and   the   burly  black-eyed,    humorous,    passionate 


xvi  BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE. 

■  i        i      ■  n  .1  ■«!  i  i    ■■ I.         ■  .  i  ii   i  !■!    111    — — — — ■— m 

ploughman  came  up  amongst  them,  the  herald  of  a  new  day  and  a  new  order  of 
things  ;  the  first  king  of  a  new  literary  empire,  in  which  he  was  to  be  succeeded  by 
Walter  Scott, — then  a  lad  of  sixteen,  engrossing  deeds  in  his  father's  office,  with 
the  Tweed  murmuring  in  his  ears,  and  Melrose  standing  in  the  light  of  his  opening 
imagination  —with  Hogg,  Gait,  Wilson,  Lockhart  and  the  rest,  for  his  satraps  and 
lieutenants. 

Burns's  arrival  in  Edinburgh, was  an  historical  event,  far  more  important  in  itself, 
and  in  its  issues,  than  either  he  or  than  any  other  person  suspected. 

He  soon  got  to  work,  however.  In  Ayrshire  he  had  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Mr.  Dalrymple,  of  Orangefield  ;  that  gentleman  introduced  him  to  his  brother-in- 
law,  the  Earl  of  Glencairn,  then  resident  in  Edinburgh  ;  and  his  lordship  introduced 
him  to  William  Creech,  the  leading  publisher  in  the  city,  at  whose  shop  the  wits 
were  wont  to  congregate.  Creech  undertook  the  publication  of  the  new  edition  ; 
and,  through  the  influence  of  Glencairn,  it  was  arranged  that  the  Caledonian  Hunt 
should  subscribe  for  a  hundred  copies,  and  that  a  guinea  should  be  paid  for  each. 
Meantime,  Mr.  Mackenzie,  in  the  Lounger,  of  date  9th  December,  wrote  a  glowing 
criticism  on  the  poems,  which  smoothed  a  way  for  them  into  the  politer  circles. 
The  new  edition,  dedicated  to  the  Caledonian  Hunt,  appeared  on  the  21st  April, 
1787,  containing  a  list  of  subscribers'  names  extending  to  more  than  thirty-eight 
pages.  The  Hunt,  as  we  have  seen,  took  one 'hundred  copies,  and  several  gentle- 
men and  noblemen  subscribed  liberally — one  taking  twenty  copies,  a  second  forty 
copies,  a  third  forty-two  copies.  The  Scots  Colleges  in  France  and  Spain  are  also 
set  down  as  subscribers  among  individual  names.  This  was  splendid  success,  and 
Bums  felt  it.  He  was  regarded  as  a  phenomenon  ;  was  asked  hither  and  thither, 
frequently  from  kindness  and  pure  admiration — often,  however,  to  be  merely  talked 
with  and  stared  at :— this  he  felt,  too,  and  his  vengeful  spleen,  well  kept  under  on  the 
whole,  corroded  his  heart  like  a  fierce  acid.  During  the  winter  preceding  the 
publication  of  the  second  edition,  he  was  feted  and  caressed.  He  was  patronised 
by  the  Duchess  of  Gordon.  Lord  Glencairn  was  his  friend,  so  also  was  Henry 
Erskine.  He  was  frequently  at  Lord  Monboddo's,  where  he  admired  the  daugh- 
ter's beauty  more  than  the  father's  philosophy;  he  breakfasted  with  Dr.  Blair ; 
he  walked  in  the  mornings  to  the  Braid  Hills  with  Professor  Dugald  Stewart ;  and 
he  frequently  escaped  from  these  lofty  circles  to  the  Masonic  Lodge,  or  to  the 
supper-tables  of  convivial  lawyers,  where  he  felt  no  restraint,  where  he  could  be 
wounded  by  no  patronage,  and  where  he  flashed  and  coruscated,  and  became  the 
soul  of  the  revel.  Fashionable  and  lettered  saloons  were  astonished  »  by  Burns's 
talk ;  but  the  interior  of  taverns — and  in  Edinburgh  tavern  life  was  all  but 
universal  at  the  time — saw  the  brighter  and  more  constant  blaze.  This  sudden 
change  of  fortune— so  different  from  his  old  life  in  the  Irvine  flax  heckling-shop,  or 
working  the  sourMossgiel  lands,  or  the  post  of  a  book-keeper  in  Jamaica,  Which  he 
looked  forward  to,  and  so  narrowly  escaped— was  not  without  its  giddy  and  exciting 

r 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE.  xvii 


pleasures,  and  for  pleasure  of  every  kind  Burns  had  the  keenest  relish.  Now  and 
again,  too,  in  the  earlief  days  of  his  Edinburgh  life,  when  success  wore  its  newest 
gloss,  and  applause  had  a  novel  sweetness,  a  spirt  of  exhilaration  escaped  him,  not 
the  less  real  that  it  was  veiled  in  a  little  scornful  exaggeration.  In  writing  to  Mr. 
Hamilton,  he  says :  "  For  my  own  affairs,  I  am  in  a  fair  way  of  becoming  as 
eminent  as  Thomas  a  Kempis,  or  John  Bunyan  ;  and  you  may  expect  hence- 
forth to  see  my  birthday  inserted  among  the  wonderful  events  in  the  Poor  Robin 
and  Aberdeen  Almanacks,  along  with  Black  Monday  and  the  battle  of  Bothwell 
Bridge."  In  any  case,  if.  he  did  feel  flattered  by  the  attention  paid  him  by 
society,  he  had  time  to  cool  and  strike  a  balance  in  his  friend  Richmond's  garret  in 
the  Lawnmarket — where  he  slept,  Mr.  Lockhart  informs  us,  during  the  whole 
of  that  glittering  and  exciting  winter. 

Hitherto,  the  world  had  seen  but  little  of  Burns  personally.  It  had  heard  his 
voice  as  of  one  singing  behind  the  scenes,  and  been  moved  to  admiration ;  and 
when  he  presented  himself  in  the  full  blaze  of  the  footlights,  he  became  the 
cynosure  of  every  eye,  and  the  point  on  which  converged  every  critical  opera-glass. 
Edinburgh  and  Burns  confronted  each  other.  Edinburgh  "  took  stock  "  of  Burns, 
Burns  "took  stock"  of  Edinburgh,  and  it  is  interesting  to  note  the  mutual 
impressions.  From  all  that  can  be  gathered  from  Dr.  Blair,  Professors  Dugald 
Stewart,  Walker,  and  others,  Burns  acquitted  himself  in  his  new  circumstances 
admirably.  He  never  lost  head,  he  never  let  a  word  of  exultation  escape  him,  his 
deportment  was  everywhere  respectful  yet  self-possessed ;  he  talked  well  and  freely 
— for  he  knew  he  was  expected  to  talk — but  he  did  not  engross  conversation.  His 
"  deferential"  address  won  his  way  to  female  favour  :  and  the  only  two  breaches 
of  decorum  which  are  recorded  of  him  in  society,  may  be  palliated  by  his  probable 
ignorance  of  his  host's  feelings  and  vanities  on  the  first  occasion,  and  on  the  second, 
by  the  peculiar  provocation  he  received.  Asked  in  Dr.  Blair's  house,  and  in  Dr. 
Blair's  presence,  from  which  of  the  city  preachers  he  had  derived  the  greatest 
gratification,  it  would  have  been  fulsome  had  Burns  said,  turning  to  the  Doctor, 
"I  consider  you,  Sir,  the  greatest  pulpit  orator  I  have  ever  heard."  The  question 
was  a  most  improper  one  in  the  circumstances ;  and  if  the  company  were  thrown 
into  a  state  of  foolish  embarrassment,  and  the  host's  feelings  wounded  by  Burns 
giving  the  palm  to  his  colleague — then  the  company  were  simply  toadies  ©f  the 
sincerer  sort,  and  the  host  less  skilled  in  the  world's  ways  than  Burns,  >and  pos- 
sessed of  less  natural  good-breeding.  In  the  second  instance  when,  in  a  sentence  more 
remarkable  for  force  than  grace,  he  extinguished  a  clergyman  who  abused  Gray's 
Elegy y  but  who  could  not  quote  a  line  of  it  correctly,  he  merely  gave  way  to  a  swift 
and  not  ungenerous  instinct— for  which  he  was,  no  doubt,  sorry  the  next  moment. 
Hecannot.be  defended  altogether,  although  even  "here  one  can  hardly  help  rendering 
him  a  sneaking  approval.  Bad  language  at  a  breakfast-table,  and  addressed  to  a 
clergyman,  is  improper— but,  on  the  other  hand,  no  clergyman  has  a  right  lo  be  a 

B  b 


xviii  BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE. 

bore  at  a  breakfast-table.  Indeed,  your  critical  and  blundering  bore,  whether 
clergyman  or  no— all  the.  more  sedulously,  perhaps,  if  he  be  a  clergyman— should 
keep  out  of  the  way  of  a  Burns.  Evil  is  certain  to  befall  him  if  he  do  not  It  is 
pretty  evident,  however,  from  the  records  left,  that  Dr.  Blair,  Dugald  Stewart, 
and.  others,  did  not  really  know  Burns—  did  not,  in  fact,  take  much  pains  to  know 
him.  They  never  met  him  on  frank,  cordial,  and  brotherly  terms.  They  looked 
on  him  curiously,  as  one  looks  on  a. strange  insect,  through  a  microscope.  From 
their  learned  heights  they  regarded  him  as  on  the  plain  beneath.  They  were 
ever  ready  with  advice,  and  counselled  him  to  stand  armed  at  points  where  no 
danger  could  possibly  appear.  Of  all  the  good  things  in  the  world,  advice  is 
practically  the  least  useful.  If  a  man  is  fool  enough  to  need  advice,  the  chances  are 
that  he  will  be  fool  enough  to  resent  it  when  given,  or  neglect  it  when  the  critical 
moment  arrives.  The  Edinburgh  literati  did  not  quite  well  know  what  to  make  of 
Burns.  He  was  a  new  thing  under  the  sun,  and  they  could  not  fall  back  on  pre- 
cedent. They  patronised  him  kindly,  heartily,  for  the  most  part— but  still  it  was 
patronage.  And  it  has  come  about  that,  in  the  lapse  of  seventy  years,  the  relations 
of  the  parties  have  been  quite  reversed — as  in  dissolving  views,  the  image  of  Burns 
has  come  out  in  bolder  relief  and  brighter  colours,  while  his  patrons  have  lost 
outline,  have  dwindled,  and  become  shadowy.  Dr.  Blair  and  Lord  Monboddo 
will  be  remembered  mainly  by  the  circumstance  that  the  one  invited  Burns  to 
his  evening  entertainments,  and  the  other  to  his  breakfasts.  Bums  has  kept 
thaj  whole  literary  generation  from  oblivion,  and  from  oblivion  he  will  keerj_ 
it  yet  awhile. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  quite  evident,  that  although  Burns,  during  that  brilliant 
winter,  masked  himself  skilfully,  he  bore  an  inward  smart.  He  felt  that  he  was 
regarded  as  meteoric,  a  wonder ;  that  he  did  not  fit  into  existing  orders  of  things, 
and  that  in  Edinburgh  he  had  no  familiar  and  received  status.  Consequently,  he 
was  never  sure  of  his  ground  ;  and  while,  for  the  most  part,  careful  to  offend  no 
one,  he  was  passionately  jealous  of  condescension  and  suspicious  of  personal  affront. 
The  men  amongst  whom  he  mingled  had  their  positions  in  the  world,  and  in  these 
positions  they  had  the  ease  of  use  and  wont.  Their  couches  were  made  soft  by 
the  down  of  customariness.  They  had  all  the  social  proprieties  and  traditions  at 
their  backs.  From  the  past,  they  flowered  out  socially  and  professionally.  With 
Burns  everything  was  different.  He  had  in  Edinburgh,  so  to  speak,  neither  father 
nor  mother.  He  had  neither  predecessor  nor  antecedent.  He  could  roll  in  no 
groove  made  smooth  by  custom ;  and  hence  it  is,  when  in  bitter  mood,  we  find 
him  making  such  extravagant  claims  for  genius  against  dull  rich  men,  or  dull  well- 
born men,  or  semi-dull  men,  who  had  been  successful  in  the  professions.  He  knew 
that  genius  was  his  sole  claim  to  the  notice  of  the  brilliant  personages  he  met 
night  after  night ;  that  but  for  it  he  was  a  small  Ayrshire  farmer,  whom  not  one  of 
those  people  would  invite  to  their  tables,  or  bid  "Good  day  "  to,  if  they  met  him 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE.  xix 

on  a  country  road.  It  was  admirable  in  Scott  to  waive,  as  he  continually  did,  all 
claim  to  special  regard  on  account  of  his  genius,  but  it  was  "easy  for  Scott  to  do 
this.  Scott  would  have  dined  well  every  day  of  his  life,  he  would  have  lived  with 
cultivated  and  refined  people,  and  would  have  enjoyed  a  fair  share  of  social  dis- 
tinction, although  he  had  never  written  Marmion  or  Ivanhoe.  But  Burns's  sole  title 
to  notice  was  genius— .take  that  from  him,  he  was  instantly  denuded  of  his  singing 
robes,  and  left  in  the  hodden  grey  of  the  farmer,  with  a  splash  of  mud  on  his 
top-boots.  In  his  commonplace  book — a  very  pool  of  Marah — which  he  kept  at 
Edinburgh,  there  is  an  entry  which  brings  all  this  out  in  a  clear  light. 

"There  are  few  of  the  sore  evils  under  the  sun  give  me  more  uneasiness  and 
chagrin  than  the  comparison  how  a  man  of  genius,  nay,  of  avowed  worth,  is 
received  everywhere,  with  the  reception  which  a  mere  ordinary  character,  decorated 
with  the  trappings  and  futile  distinctions  of  fortune,  meets.  Imagine'  a  man  of 
abilities,  his  heart  glowing  with  honest  pride,  conscious  that  men  are  born  equal, 
still  giving  honour  to  whom  honour  is  due  ;  he  meets  at  a  great  man's  table  a  Squire 
Something,  or  a  Sir  Somebody ;  he  knows  the  noble  landlord,  at  heart,  gives  the 
bard,  or  whatever  he  is,  a  share  of  his  good  wishes,  beyond,  perhaps,  any  one  at 
table  ;  yet  how  will  it  mortify  him  to  see  a  fellow,  whose  abilities  would  scarcely 
have  made  an  eightpenny  tailor,  and  whose  heart  is  not  worth  three  farthings, 
meet  with  attention  and  notice,  that  are  withheld  from  the  son  of  genius  and 
poverty ! 

"  The  noble  Glencairn  has  wounded  me  to  the  soul  here,  because  I  dearly  esteem, 
respect,  and  love  him.  He  showed  so  much  attention,  engrossing  attention,  one 
day,  to  the  only  blockhead  at  table  (the  whole  company  consisted  of  his  lordship, 
dunder-pate,  and  myself),  that  I  was  within  half  a  point  of  throwing  down  my  gage 
of  contemptuous  defiance  ;  but  he  shook  my  hand,  and  looked  so  benevolently  good 
at  parting.  God  bless  him  !  though  I  should  never  see  him  more,  I  shall  love  him 
until  my  dying  day  !  I  am  pleased  to  think  I  am  so  capable  of  the  throes  of 
gratitude,  as  I  am  miserably  deficient  in  some  other  virtues. 

"  With  Dr.  Blair  I  am  more  at  my  ease.  I  never  respect  him  with  humble 
veneration  ;  but  when  he  kindly  interests  himself  in  my  welfare,  or,  still  more, 
when  he  descends  from  his  pinnacle,  and  meets  me  on  equal  ground  in  conversation, 
my  heart  overflows  with  what  is  called  liking.  When  he  neglects  me  for  the  mere 
carcase  of  greatness,  or  when  his  eye  measures  the  difference  of  our  points  of 
elevation,  I  say  to  myself,  with  scarcely  any  emotion,  what  do  I  care  for  him,  or 
his  pomp  either?" 

A  man  like  Burns,  living  at  a  period  when  literature  had  not  to  any  extent 
become  a  profession,  could  not  find  his  place  amongst  the  recognised  forcesvof  the 
world — was  doomed  for  ever  to  be  an  outsider — and  therein  lay  the  tragedy  of  his 
life.  He  was  continually  making  comparisons  between  his  own  evil  fortune  and 
the  good  fortune  of  others.     Proud,  suspicious,  Swift  to  take  offence,  when  his 

bz 


xx  BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE. 

amour-propre  was  wounded,  he  was  apt  to  salve  it  in  the  company  of  revellers 
whom  he  could  meet  on  equal  terms,  and  in  whose  society  he  could  take  out  his 
revenge  in  sarcasm.  As  regards  mere  brain,  he  does  not  seem  to  have  entertained 
any  remarkable  respect  for  the  Edinburgh  men  of  letters.  He  considered  he  had 
met  as  much  intellectual  capacity— unpolished  and  in  the  rough— in  Torbolton 
debating  societies,  Mauchline  masonic  meetings,  and  at  the  tables  of  the  writers  of 
Kilmarnock  and  Ayr*  He  admitted,  however,  that  his  residence  in  Edinburgh 
had  brought  him  in  contact  with  something  new — a  refined  and  accomplished 
woman.  The  admission  is  important,  and  meeting  it  one  fancies  for  a  moment  that 
one  has  caught  some  sort  of  explanation  of  his  future  life.  What  might  have  been 
the  result  had  Burns  secured  a  career  in  which  his  fancy  and  intellect  could  have 
exercised  themselves,  and  a  wife,  who  to  affection  added  refinement  and  accomplish- 
ment, we  may  surmise,  but  cannot  tell.  A  career  he  never  secured ;  and  on  his 
return  to  Ayrshire,  in  passionate  blindness,  he  forged  chains  for  himself  which  he 
could  not  break— which  it  would  have  been  criminal  in  him  to  have  attempted 
to  break. 

From  Burns's  correspondence  while  in  Edinburgh  we  can  see  in  what  way  he 
regarded  his  own  position  and  prospects.  He  admitted  that  applause  was  pleasant ; 
he  knew  that,  as  a  poet,  he  possessed  some  merit,  but  he  constantly  expressed  his 
conviction  that  much  of  his  success  arose  from  the  novelty  of  a  poet  appearing  in 
his  rank  of  life ;  and  he  congratulates  himself  on  the  circumstance  that — let  literary 
reputation  wax  or  wane— he  had  "an  independence  at  the  plough-tail"  to  fall 
back  upon.  He  foresaw  from  the  beginning  that  Edinburgh  could  be  nothing 
more  than  a  striking  episode  in  his  life,  and  that  he  was  fated  to  return  to  the  rural 
shades.  Early  in  the  year,  he  had  some  conversation  with  Mr.  Patrick  Miller, 
relative  to  his  becoming  a  tenant  on  that  gentleman's  estate  at  Dalswinton,  and 
had  promised  to  run  down  to  Dumfriesshire  and  look  at  the  lands  some  time  in 
the  following  May.  That  Mr.  Miller  was  anxious  to  serve  Burns,  seems  to  have 
been  generally  known  in  Edinburgh ;  for  in  Dr.  Blair's  letter,  dated  on  4th  May, 
1 787,  in  answer  to  a  note  written  by  Burns  on  the  previous  day,  intimating  that  he 
was  about  to  leave  town,  the  Doctor  supposes  that  he  is  "going  down  to  Dalswinton 
to  look  at  some  of  Mr.  Miller's  farms."  Before  his  return,  Burns  did  intend  to 
look  at  these  farms,  but  at  the  moment  farming  was  not  the  principal  business  in 
hand.  He,  in  company  with  his  young  friend  Ainslie,  was  on  the  wing  for  the  south 
of  Scotland — a  district  which  was  .calling  him  with  a  hundred  voices  of  tradition 
and  balfad.  On  the  day  before  starting,  he  sent  Mr.  Johnson,  editor  of  the  Scot's 
Musical  Museum,  a  cordial  letter,  for  he  had  entered  with  enthusiasm  into  that 
gentleman's  work,  and  already  written  for  it  one  or  two  songs — preliminary  drops 
of  the  plenteous  summer-shower  which  has  kept  so  many  secret  places  of  the  heart 
fresh  and  green. 

The  companions  left  Edinburgh  on  horseback  on  the  5th  May.     They  visited 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE.  xxi 

Dunse,  Coldstream,  Kelso,  Jedburgh,  Melrose,  Dryburgh,  and  Yarrow— Burns 
scattering  jokes  and  epigrams  all  the  way.  About  the  middle  of  the  month  Ainslie 
returned  to  Edinburgh,  and  Burns  then  crossed  into  England,  saw  Hexham  and 
Newcastle,  and  returned  home  by  Carlisle  and  Dumfries.  From  Dumfries  he 
went  to  Dalswinton,  looked  over  the  estate,  but  did  not  seem  much  enamoured  of 
its  condition.  He,  however,  arranged  to  meet  Mr.  Miller  in  August.  He  then 
came  by  Sanquhar  to  Mauchline,  and  dropped  in  upon  his  family  unannounced. 
His  meeting  with  these  reticent  hearts  must  be  left  to  imagination.  He  went  out 
from  them  obscure ;  he  returned  to  them  illustrious,  with  a  nimbus  around  his 
head.  At  home  he  renewed  acquaintanceship  with  old  friends,  and  found  that 
Mr.  Armour,  who  had  treated  him  coldly  in  the  day  of  his  poverty  and  obscurity, 
was  now  inclined  to  regard  him  with  a  favourable  eye— a  circumstance  which  seems 
to  have  kindled  Burns  into  unreasonable  rage.  "If  anything,"  he  writes  to  his 
correspondent  Smith,  "had  been  wanting  to  disgust  me  completely  with  the  Armour 
family,  their  mean,  servile  compliance  would  have  done  it."  The  proud  spirit 
which  rankled  in  Edinburgh  seems  to  have  rankled  no  less  bitterly  in  Ayrshire. 
A  few  days  after  he  wrote  to  Mr.  William  Nicol,  master  of  the  High  School, 
Edinburgh— then  and  afterwards  one  of  his  chiefest  friends : — "I  never,  my  friends, 
thought  mankind  very  capable  of  anything  generous ;  but  the.  stateliness  of  the 
patricians  in  Edinburgh,  and  the  civility  of  my  plebeian  brethren  (who  perhaps 
formerfy  eyed  me  askance)  since  I  ret"rned  home,  have  nearly  put  me  out  of  con- 
ceit altogether  with  my  species.  I  have  bought  a  pocket  Milton,  which  I  carry 
perpetually  about  with  me,  in  order  to  .  study  the  sentiments,  the  dauntless 
magnanimity,  the  intrepid,  unyielding  independence,  the  desperate  daring,  and 
noble  defiance  of  hardship,  in  that  great  personage,  Satan."  At  this  precise 
period,  it  is  somewhat  hard  to  understand  whence  came  the  bitterness  which  wells 
up  in  almost  every  letter  which  Burns  wrote.  He  was  famous,  he  was  even  com- 
paratively rich,  but  he  had  an  eye  which,  constitutionally,  regarded  the  seamy  side 
of  things.  Probably,  in  no  possible  combination  of  fortunate  circumstances  could 
Burns  have  been  a  contented  and  happy  man.  He  had  Ulysses*  "hungry  heart," 
which  could  be  satisfied  with  no  shore,  however  green  and  pleasant,  which  must 
needs  sail  beyond  the  sunset.  While  residing  at  Mauchline,  he  accidentally  met 
Jean,  and  affectionate  intimacy  was  renewed,  as  if  no  anger  or  bitterness  had  ever 
estranged  them. 

Towards  the  end  of  June  he  went  alone  to  the  West  Highlands,  without  any 
apparent  motive,  if  not  drawn  by  the  memory  of  Mary  Campbell.  Of  his  move- 
ments in  this  trip  we  have.no  very  precise  information.  At  Inverary,  where  he 
could  find  accommodation  neither  in  Castle  nor  Inn,  he  left  an  epigram  which  has 
become  famous.  In  a  letter  to  Mr.  J.  Smith — a  fair  specimen  of  his  more  familiar 
epistolary  stylft»-dated  30th  June,  we  have  some  slight  information  respecting  his 
doings,  and  a  description  of  certain  "  high  jinks "  in  the  north,  in  which  he  was 


xxii  BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE. 

fm _. ; __ 

an  actor.  '  Although  the  letter  is  dated  as  above,  it  does  not  state  at  what  place  it 
was  written — Burns,  perhaps,  wishing  to  keep  his  secret. 

'■  On  our  return,  at  a  highland  gentleman's  hospitable  mansion,  we  fell  in  with  a 
merry  party,  and  danced  till  the  ladies  left  us,  at  three  in  the  morning.  Our 
dancing  was  none  of  the  French  or  English  insipid  formal  movements;  the  ladies 
sung  Scotch  songs  like  angels,  at  intervals;  then  we  flew  at  'Bab  at  the  Bowster,' 
1  Tullochgorum,'  '  Loch  Erroch  Side,'  &c.  like  midges  sporting  in  the  mottie  sun, 
or  crows  prognosticating  a  storm  on  a  hairst  day.  When  the  dear  lassies  left  us, 
we  ranged  round  the  bowl,  to  the  good-fellow  hour  of  six ;  except  a  few  minutes 
that  we  went  out  to  pay  our  devotions  to  the  glorious  lamp  of  day 'peering  over  the 
towering  top  of  Ben  Lomond.  We  all  kneeled  ;  our  worthy  landlord's  son  held  the 
bowl,  each  man  a  full  glass  in  his  hand  ;  and  I,  as  priest,  repeated  some  rhyming 
nonsense,  like  Thomas-a-Rhymer's  prophecies,  I  suppose.  After  a  small  refresh- 
ment of  the  gifts  of  Somnus,  we  proceeded  to  spend  the  day  on  Loch  Lomond, 
and  reached  Dumbarton  in  the  evening.  We  dined  at  another  good  fellow's  house, 
and  consequently  pushed  the  bottle ;  when  we  went  out  to  mount  our  horses,  we 
found  ourselves  'No  vera  fou,  but  gay  lie  yet.*  My  two  friends,  and  I,  rode 
soberly  down  the  Loch  side,  till  by  came  a  Highlandman  at  the  gallop,  on  a 
tolerably  good  horse,  but  which  had  never  known  the  ornaments  of  iron  or  leather. 
We  scorned  to  be  out-galloped  by  a  Highlandman,  so  off  we  started,  whip  and  spur. 
My  companions,  though  seemingly  gaily  mounted,  fell  sadly  astern ;  but  my  old 
mare,  Jenny  Geddes,  one  of  the  Rosinante  family,  strained  past  the  Highlandman, 
in  spite  of  all  his  efforts  with  the  hair-halter.  Just  as  I  was  passing  him,  Donald 
wheeled  his  horse,  as  if  to  cross  before  me,  to  mar  my  progress,  when  down  came 
his  horse,  and  threw  his  breekless  rider  in  a  dipt  hedge  ;  and  down  came  Jenny 
Geddes  over  all,  and  my  hardship  between  her  and  the  Highlandman's  horse.  Jenny 
Geddes  trode  over  me  with  such  cautious  reverence,  that  matters  were  not  so  bad 
as  might  have  been  expected ;  so  I  came  off  with  a  few  cuts  and  bruises  and  a 
thorough  resolution  to  be  a  pattern  of  sobriety  for  the  future. 

"  I  have  yet  fixed  on  nothing  with  respect  to  the  serious  business- of  life.  I  am, 
just  as  usual,  a  rhyming,  mason-making,  raking,  aimless,  idle  fellow.  However, 
I  shall  somewhere  have  a  farm  soon." 

Whatever  motive  may  have  induced  Burns  to  visit  the  West  Highlands,  he 
returned  to  Mossgiel  somewhat  shaken  by  the  escapade  related  above.  During 
the  ensuing  month  he  wrote  his  autobiographical  sketch  to  Dr.  Moore,  and  on  the 
7th  August  he  returned  to  Edinburgh  to  settle  business  matters  with  his  publisher, 
and  to  arrange  other  excursions  through  districts  of  the  country  in  which  he  had  a 
poetic  interest 

Near  the  close  of  August,  Burns  and  Nicol  started  on  a  northern  tour.  They 
went  by  Falkirk  and  Stirling,  visited  the  field  of  Bannockburn,  and  on  their  return 
to  Stirling,  Burns,  with  a  diamond  which  he  had  recently  purchased— the  most 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE.  xxiii 

unfortunate  of  all  his  investments,  as  it  turned  out — scribbled  certain  perilous 
verses  on  a  window-pane  of  the  inn.  They  then  struck  into  Perthshire,  admired 
the  Falls  of  Moness,  where  Burns  wrote  The  Birks  of  Aberfeldy ;  visited  Blair, 
the  seat  of  the  Duke  of  Athole,  where  they  were  hospitably  entertained,  and 
where  Burns  met  his  future  patron,  Mr.  Graham,  of  Fintry,  and  narrowly  missed 
meeting  Mr.  Dundas  — a  piece  of  ill-fortune  which  his  biographers  agree  in 
lamenting.  The  travellers  then  proceeded  to  Inverness,  went  to  Culloden,  spent 
some  time  at  the  mined  cathedral  at  Elgin ;  crossed  the  Spey,  and  visited  the 
Duke  of  Gordon — which  visit  was  cut  short  by  an  ebullition  of  wounded  pride  on 
the  part  of  Nicol.  From  Castle  Gordon  they  came  by  Banff  to  Aberdeen  ;  Burns 
then  crossed  into  Kincardineshire— of  which  county  his  father  was  a  native — and 
spent  some  time  in  hunting  up  his  relations  there.  He  then  went  to  Montrose, 
where  he  met  his  cousin,  Mr.  James  Burness,  and  returned  to  Edinburgh  by  Perth 
and  Dundee. 

In  the  beginning  of  October,  according  to  Mr.  Chambers, — for  there  seems  to 
be  a  little  obscurity  as  to  date,  — Burns,  accompanied  by  Dr.  Adair,  set  out  on  a 
visit  to  Sir  William  Murray,  of  Ochtertyre,  and  passing  through  Stirling,  he  broke 
the  pane  in  the  inn  on  which  he  had  inscribed  the  treasonable  lines.  Unhappily, 
however,  he  could  not  by  this  means  put  them  out  of  existence,  as  they  had  been 
widely  copied  and  circulated,  and  were  alive  in  many  memories.  At  Ochtertyre  he 
spent  one  or  two  pleasant  days ;  and  while  in  the  neighbourhood  he  took  the 
opportunity  of  visiting  Mrs.  Bruce  of  Clackmannan,  who  was  in  possession  of  the 
helmet  and  sword  of  the  Bruce,  and  with  the  latter  she  conferred  on  the  poet  and 
his  guide  the  honour  of  knighthood,  remarking  as  she  did  so,  that  she  had  a  better 
right  to  give  the  title  than  some  people.  He  returned  to  Edinburgh  by  Kinross 
and  Queensferry,  and  while  at  Dunfermline  some  circumstances  took  place,  trivial 
in  themselves,  but  important  as  exhibiting  what  rapid  changes  took  place  in  the 
weather  of  the  poet's  mind. 

"  At  Dunfermline,"  says  Dr.  Adair,  "we  visited  the  ruined  abbey  and  the  abbey 
church,  now  consecrated  to  Presbyterian  worship.  Here  I  mounted  the  cutty  stoo/, 
or  stool  of  repentance,  assuming  the  character  of  a  penitent  for  fornication,  while 
Burns  from  the  pulpit  addressed  to  me  a  ridiculous  reproof  and  exhortation, 
parodied  from  that  which  had  been  delivered  to  himself  in  Ayrshire,  where 
he  had,  as  he  assured  me,  once  been  one  of  seven  who  mounted  the  seat  of 
shame  together. 

"  In  the  churchyard  two  broad  flagstones  marked  the  grave  of  Robert  Bruce,  for 
whose  memory  Burns  had  more  than  common  veneration.  He  knelt  and  kissed 
the  stone  with  sacred  fervour,  and  heartily  execrated  the  worse  than  Gothic  neglect 
of  the  first  of  Scottish  heroes." 

Burns  was  now  resident  in  St.  James's  Square,  in  the  house  of  William  Cruick* 
shank,  who  was,  like  Nicol,  connected  with  the  Edinburgh  High  School.     His 


[  xxiv  BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFA CE. 

\ - 

\ 
chief  business  was  the  arrangement  of  publishing  matters  with  Creech,  and  he  was 

anxious  to  come  to  some  definite  conclusion  with  Mr.  Miller  regarding  a  farm  at 

Dalswinton.     On  his  return  from  Ochtertyre  he  wrote  that  gentleman  in  practical 

terms  enough  :  "  I  want  to  be  a  farmer  in  a  small  farm,  about  a  plough -gang,  in  a 

pleasant  country,  under  the  auspices  of  a  good  landlord.     I  have  no  foolish  notion 

of  being  a  tenant  on  easier  terms  than  another.     To  find  a  farm  where  one  can  live 

at  all  is  not  easy.     I  only  mean  living  soberly,  like  an  old  style  farmer,  and  joining 

personal  industry.     The  banks  of  the  Nith  are  as  sweet  poetic  ground  as  any  I  ever 

saw ;  and  besides,  sir,  'tis  but  justice  to  the  feelings  of  my  own  heart,  and  the 

opinion  of  my  best  friends,  to  say  that  I  would  wish  to  call  you  landlord  sooner 

than  any  landed  gentleman  I  know.     These  are  my  views  and  wishes ;  and  in 

whatever  way  you  think  best  to  lay  out  your  farms,  I  shall  be  happy  to  rent  one 

of  them.     I  shall  certainly  be  able  to  ride  to  Dalswinton  about  the  middle  of 

next  week."     Burns,  however,  did  not  go  to  Dumfriesshire  so  early  as  he  expected. 

There  was  dilatoriness  on  Creech's  part  regarding  settlements  as  to  the  poems ; 

there  was  perhaps  dilatoriness  on  Burns's  part  regarding  the  farm ;  at  all  events, 

autumn  had  glided  into  winter,  and  he  remained  at  Edinburgh  without  having  come 

to  a  conclusion  with  either.     The  winter,  however,  was  destined  to  open  one  of 

the  strangest  chapters  in  his  strange  story.     At  this  time  he  made  the  acquaintance 

of  Mrs..  M  'Lehose,  the  Clarinda  of  so  many  impassioned  letters.     This  lady,  who 

was  possessed  of  no  common  beauty  and  intelligence,  had  been  deserted  by  her 

husband,  and  was  bringing  up  her  children  in  somewhat  narrow  circumstances. 

They  met  at  tea  in  the  house  of  a  common  friend,  and  were  pleased  with  each 

other's  conversation.     The  second  night,  after,  Burns  was  to  have  drunk  tea  by 

invitation  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  M 'Lehose,  but  having  been  upset  the  previous 

evening  by  a  drunken  coachman,  and  brought  home  with  a  knee  severely  bruised, 

he  was  obliged  to  forego  that  pleasure.     He  wrote  the  lady,  giving  the  details  of 

the  accident,  and  expressing  regret  that  he  was  unable  to  leave  his  room.     The 

lady,  who  was  of  a  temperament"  generous  and  impulsive,  replied  at  once,  giving 

utterance  to  her  regret,  and  making  Burns  a  formal  proffer  of  her  sympathy  and 

friendship.     Burns  was  enraptured,  and  returned  an  answer  after  the  following 

fashion : — 

"I  stretch  a  point,  indeed,  my  dearest  madam,  when  I  answer  your  card  on  the 
rack  of  my  present  agony.  Your  friendship,  madam  !  By  heavens  !  I  was  never 
proud  before.  *  *  *  I  swear  solemnly  (in  all  the  terror  of  my  former  oath)  to 
remember  you  in  all  the  pride  and  warmth  of  friendship  until— I  cease  to  be  ! 

"  To-morrow,  and  every  day  till  I  see  you,  you  shall  hear  from  me. 

"Farewell !     May  you  enjoy  a  better  night's  repose  than  I  am  likely  to  have." 

The  correspondence,  so  rapturously  opened,  proceeded  quite  as  rapturously.  It 
was  arranged  that  in  future  Burns  should  sign  himself  Sylvander^  and  the  lady 
Clarinda.     Each  day  gave  birth  to  its  epistle.     Poems  were  interchanged.     Sighs 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE,  xxv 

were  wafted  from  St.  James's  Square  to  the  Potterow.  Clarinda  was  a  "gloriously 
amiable  fine  woman,"  and  Sylvander  was  her  "devoted  slave."  Clarinda  chid 
Sylvander  tenderly  for  the  warmth  of  his  expressions.  Sylvander  was  thrown 
into  despair  by  the  retiuke,  but  protested  that  he  was  not  to  blame.  Who  could 
behold  her  superior  charms,  her  fine  intelligence,  and  not  love  ?  who  could  love  and 
be  silent?  Clarinda  had  strong  Calvinistic  leanings,  and  Sylvander,  who  could  not 
pardon  these  things  in  Ayrshire  clergymen,  and  was  accustomed  to  call  them  by 
quite  other  names,  was  "  delighted  by  her  honest  enthusiasm  for  religion."  Clarinda 
was  to  be  passing  on  a  certain  day  through  the  square  in  which  Sylvander  lived, 
and  promised  to  favour  him  with  a  nod,  should  she  be  so  fortunate  as  to  see  him 
at  his  window ;  and  wrote  sorrowing,  the  day  after,  that  she  had  been  unable  to 
discover  his  window.  Sylvander  was  inconsolable.  Not  able  to  discover  his 
window  !  He  could  almost  throw  himself  over  it  for  very  vexation.  His  peace  is 
spoiled  for  the  day.  He  is  sure  the  soul  is  capable  of  disease,  for  his  has  convulsed 
itself  into  an  inflammatory  fever,  and  so  on.  During  this  period  of  letter-writing, 
Burns  and  Mrs.  M'Lehose  had  met  several  times  in  her  own  house,  and  on  these 
occasions  he  had  opportunities  of  making  her  aware  of  his  dismal  prospects.  The 
results  of  his  renewed  intercourse  with  Jean  on  his  return  to  Ayrshire  were  now 
becoming  apparent ;  this  was  communicated  to  her  along,  with  other  matters,  and 
Mrs.  M'Lehose  was  all  forgiveness — tempered  with  rebuke,  and  a  desire  for  a  more 
Calvinistic  way  of  thinking  on  his  part  on  religious  subjects.  That  the  affection 
of  Burns  for  the  lady  was  rooted  in  anything  deeper  than  fancy,  and  a  natural 
delight  in  intelligence  and  a  pleasing  manner,  may  be  doubted.  His  Clarinda 
letters  are  artificial,  and  one  suspects  the  rhetorician  in  the  swelling  sentences  and 
the  exaggerated  sentiment.  With  regard  to  Mrs.  M'Lehose  there  can  be  no 
mistake.  Her  letters  are  far  superior  to  Burns's,  being  simple,  natural,  and  with  a 
pathetic  cadence  in  some  portions  which  has  not  yet  lost  the  power  to  affect.  She 
loved  Burns,  and  hoped,  if  he  would  but  wait  till  existing  ties  were  broken,  to 
be  united  to  him.  But  Burns  could  not  wait,  the  correspondence  drooped,  and 
a  year  saw  all  his  passion 

"  Die  away, 
And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day;" 

the  common  day  of  Jean  Armour,  Ellisland,  and  the  Excise. 

When  Burns  at  this*  period,  confined  to  his  room  by  an  angry  limb,  in  the  middle 
of  his  Clarinda  correspondence,  and  tortured  with  suspicions  of  Creech's  insolvency 
— of  which  some  ugly  rumours  had  reached  him — was  made  aware  that  Jean  was 
about  to  become  again  a  mother,  and  that  her  father  had  thrust  her  from  his  house 
in  anger,  he  was  perhaps  more  purely  wretched  than  at  any  other  period  of  his  life. 
In  his  own  breast  there  was  passionate  tumult  and  remorse.  Look  where  he 
would,  no  blue  spot  was  to  be  discovered  in  the  entire  sky  of  his  prospects.     He 


xxvi  BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE. 

had  felt  the  sweetness  of  applause  :  he  was  now  to  experience  the  bitterness  of  the 
after-taste.  He  was  a  "lion  "  whose  season  had  passed.  His  great  friends  seemed 
unwilling  or  unable  to  procure  him  a  post.  He  had  been  torn  from  his  old  modes  of 
life,  and  in  the  new  order  of  things  which  surrounded  him  he  could  find  nothing 
permanent,  nothing  that  would  cohere.  Time  was  passing  ;  his  life  was  purpose- 
less ;  he  was  doing  nothing,  effecting  nothing  ;  he  was  flapping  in  the  wind  like  an 
unbraced  sail.  At  this  juncture  he  resolved  to  bring  matters  to  a'  conclusion, 
after  one  fashion  or  another.  In  his  letters,  the  old  scheme  of  emigration  to  the 
West  Indies  turns  up  bitterly  for  a  moment.  Then  he  bethought  himself  of  a  post 
in  the  Excise,  which  had  always  been  a  dream  of  his,  and  the  possibility  of  his 
obtaining  which  had  been  discussed  by  his  Ayrshire  friends  before  he  became 
famous.  If  such  a  position  could  be  secured  it  would  be  at  least  something,  some- 
thing in  itself,  something  to  fall  back  upon  should  his  farming  schemes  prove 
abortive.  He  accordingly  wrote  the  Earl  of  Glencairn,  soliciting  his  patronage, 
but  the  application  appears  to  have  been  followed  by  no  result.  Mr.  Graham,  of 
Fintry,  whose  acquaintance  Burns  had  made  at  Blair,  the  seat  of  the  Duke  of 
Athole,  having  heard  of  his  wish,  through  the- kind  offices  of  Mr.  Alexander  Wood, 
the  surgeon  who  attended  him,  immediately  placed  his  name  on  the  list  of  expec- 
tant officers.  Having  arranged  his  Excise  business  so  far,  he  left  Edinburgh  to 
have  another  look  at  Mr.  Miller's  farms,  and  to  come  to  an  agreement,  if  possible. 
He  took  a  friend  with  him  on  whose  sagacity  and  business  skill  lie  could  confide; 
and  after  a  deliberate  inspection  of  the  lands,  he  was  better  satisfied  than  he  had 
been  on  a  former  occasion,  and  at  once  made  an  offer  to  Mr.  Miller  for  the  farm  at 
Ellisland,  whicli  was  accepted.  On  his  return  to  Edinburgh  he  announced  his 
resolution  to  his  friend  Miss  Chalmers : 

"Yesternight  I  completed  a  bargain  with  Mr.  Miller,  of  Dalswinton,  for  the  farm 
of  Ellisland,  on  the  banks  of  the  Nith,  between  five  and  six  miles  above  Dumfries. 
I  begin  at  Whitsunday  to  build  a  house,  drive  lime,  &c,  and  Heaven  be  my  help  ! 
for  it  will  take  a  strong  effort  to  bring  my  mind  into  the  routine  of  business.  I 
have  discharged  all  the  army  of  my  former  pursuits,  fancies,  and  pleasures — a 
motley  host !  and  have  literally  and  strictly  retained  only  the  ideas  of  a  few  friends, 
which  I  have  incorporated  into  a  life-guard." 

Burns's  business  at  this  time  in  Edinburgh  related  to  his  settlement  with  Creech, 
which,  after  many  delays,  was  about  to  take  place.  In  all,  he  appears  to  have 
received  between  400/.  and  500/.,  and  out  of  this  sum  he  advanced  180/.  to  his 
brother  Gilbert,  who  was  struggling  manfully  at  Mossgiel.  On  the  24th  March, 
with  much  business  on  hand,  he  left  Edinburgh  for  Ayrshire,  where  he  married 
Jean  Armour— snapping  thereby  the  chief  link  which  bound  him  to  the  metropolis. 
This  union,  putting  moral  considerations  out  of  the  question  altogether,  was  the 
most  prudent  course  open  to  him,  and  it  repaired  the  fabric  of  self-respect  which 
had  been,  to  some  extent  at  least,  broken  down.     For  a  time  we  hear  nothing  of 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE.  xxvil 

the  "wandering  stabs  of  remorse,"  and  his  letter?  breathe  a  quite  unusual  content- 
edness.  He  had  made  some  little  self-sacrifice,  and  he  tasted  the  happiness  which 
always  arises  from  the  consciousness  of  self-sacrifice.  Besides,  he  had  loved  the 
girl,  perhaps  loved  her  all  through,  although  the  constant  light  of  affection  h&cli  to 
himself  as  well  as  to  others,  been  obscured  by  the  glare  of  fiercer  and  more  tran- 
sitory fires  ;  and  if  so — the  sacrifice  not  so  great  as  he  supposed  it  to  be— he  was 
plainly  a  gainer  both  ways.  Bums  was  placed  at  this  time  in  difficult  circum- 
stances, and  he  simply  made  the  best  of  them.  He  could  build  only  with  the  materials 
within  reach.  There  was  nothing  left  but  to  begin  life  again  as  a  farmer,  and  it 
behoved  him  to  wear  russet  on  heart  as  well  as  on  limb.  In  the  heyday  of  his 
Edinburgh  success  he  foresaw  the  probability  of  his  return  to  the  rural  shades,  and 
to  these  shades  he  had  now  returned — but  he  returned  with  reputation,  experience, 
an  unreproving  conscience,  some  little  money  in  hand,  and  with  solider  prpspects 
of  happiness  than  had  ever  yet  fallen  to  his  lot.  Happiness  he  did  taste  for  a  few 
months— and  then  out  of  the  future  came  the  long  shadows  of  disaster,  fated  not  to 
pass  away,  but  to  gather  deeper  and  darker  over  a  grave  which  was  dug  too  early 
— and  yet  too  late. 

When  Burns  entered  into  possession  of  Ellisland,  at  Whitsunday,  1788,  he  left 
his  wife  at  Mauchline  till  the  new  dwelling-house  should  be  erected.  In  the  mean- 
time he  was  sufficiently  busy ;  he  had  to  superintend  masons  and  carpenters,  as 
well  as  look  after  more  immediate  farm  matters.  Besides,  in  order  to  qualify  him- 
self for  holding  his  Excise  Commission,  he  had  to  give  attendance  at  Ayr  for  six 
weeks  on  the  duties  of  his  new  profession.  These  occupations,  together  with 
occasional  visits  to  his  wife  and  family,  kept  him  fully  occupied.  Hope  had  sprung 
up  in  his  bosom  like  a  Jonah's  gourd,  and  while  the  greenness  lasted  he  was  happy 
enough.  During  his  solitary  life  at  Ellisland,  he  wrote  two  or  three  of  his  finest 
songs,  each  of  them  in  praise  of  Jean,  and  each  giving  evidence  that  his  heart  was 
at  rest.  During  this  time,  too,  a  somewhat  extensive  correspondence  was  kept  up, 
and  activity  and  hopefulness — only  occasionally  dashed  by  accesses  of  his  constitu- 
tional melancholy— radiate  through  it  all.  As  was  natural,  his  letters  relate,  for 
the  most  part,  to  his  marriage  and  his  new  prospects.  As  respects  his  marriage,  he 
takes  abundant  care  to  make  known .  that,  acting  as  he  had  done,  he  had  acted 
prudently  ;  that  he  had  secured  an  admirable  wife,  and  that  in  his  new  relationship 
he  was  entirely  satisfied.  If  any  doubt  should  exist  as  to  Burns's  satisfaction,  it 
can  arise  only  from  his  somewhat  too  frequent  protestation  of  it.  He  takes  care  to 
inform  his  correspondents  that  he  has  actually  married  Jean,  that  he  would  have 
been  a  scoundrel  had  he  declined  to  marry  her,  and  that  she  possessed  the  sweetest 
temper  and  the  handsomest  figure  in  the  country.  The  truth  is,  that,  in  the  matter 
of  matrimony,  he  could  not  very  well  help  himself.  He  was  aware  that  the  match 
was  far  from  a  brilliant  one,  and  as  he  really  loved  his  wife,  he  had  to  argue  down 
that  feeling  in  his  own  heart  1  he  was  aware  that  his  correspondents  did  not  con- 


xxviii  BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE. 

sider  it  brilliant,  and  he  had  also  to  argue  down  that  feeling  in  theirs.  Meanwhile, 
the  house  at  Ellisland  was  getting  finished.  In  the  first  week  of  December  he 
brought  home  his  wife,  and  in  the  pride  of  his  heart  he  threw  off  a  saucy  little  song, 

"I  hae  a  wife  o'  my  ain, 

which  quivers  through  every  syllable  of  it  with  a  homely  and  assured  delight  that 
laughs  at  all  mischance.  Mrs.  Burns  brought  her  children  and  a  whole  establish- 
ment of  servants.  The  house  was  small,  its  accommodation  was  limited,  and  Burns 
sat  at  meals  with  his  domestics,  and  on  Sunday  evenings,  after  the  good  old  Scottish 
fashion,  he  duly  catechised  them.  He  has  himself  left  on  record  that  this  was  the 
happiest  portion  of  his  life..  He  had  friends,  with  whom  he  maintained  an  intimate 
correspondence  ;  he  had  a  wife  whp  loved  him ;  his  passionate  and  wayward  heart 
was  at  rest  in  its  own  happiness  ;  he  could  see  the  grain  yellowing  in  his  own 
fields  ;  he  had  the  Excise  Commission  in  his  pocket  on  which  he  could  fall  back  if 
anything  went  wrong ;  and  on  the  red  scaur  above  the  river,  he  could  stride  about, 
giving  audience  to  incommunicable  thought,  while  the  Nith  was  hoarse  with  flood, 
and  the  moon  Was  wading  through  clouds  overhead.  When  should  he  have  been 
happy,  if  not  now  ? 

Burns's  farming  operations  during  the  second  year  of  his  occupancy  of  Ellisland 
were  not  successful,  and  in  the  more  unrestrained  letters  of  the  period  we  find  him 
complaining  of  his  hard  fate  in  being  obliged  to  make  one  guinea  do  the  work  of 
five.  As  the  expense  of  his  family  was  now  rapidly  increasing,  he  requested  to  be 
allowed  to  enter  at  once  on  his  duties  as  officer  of  Excise.  That  in  his  new  mode 
of  life  he  would  encounter  unpleasantnesses  he  knew,  and  was  prepared  for  them  ; 
but  he  expected  that  Mrs.  Burns  would  be  able  to  manage  the  farm  for  the  most 
part— in  any  case  his  salary  as  Exciseman  would  be  a  welcome  addition  to  his 
means.  He  was  appointed  on  application,  he  entered  zealously  on  his  duties,  and 
as  his  district  extended  over  ten  parishes,  he  was  forced  to  ride  about  two  hundred 
miles  per  week.  This  work,  taken  in  conjunction  with  labour  at  Ellisland,  which, 
constantly  getting  into  arrear,  demanded  fierce  exertion  at  intervals,  was  too  much 
for  even  his  iron  frame.  He  had  attacks  of  illness,  and  his  constitutional  hypo- 
chondria ruled  him  with  a  darker  sceptre  than  ever.  It  appears  evident  from  his 
letters  that  he  meant  to  make  his  fight  at  Ellisland,  r  and  that  he  considered  the 
Excise  as  a  second  line  of  defence  on  which  he  could  fall  back  in  the  event  of  defeat. 
At  Ellisland  he  was  defeated,  and  on  his  second  line  of  defence  he  fell  back  grimly 
enough.  An  Excise  officer  is  not  a  popular  character  in  country  districts  where 
smugglers  abound  ;  and  whatever  degree  of  odium  might  attach  to  his  .new 
profession  Burns  was  certain  to  feel  more  keenly  than  most.  One  can  see  that  in 
his  new  relation  his  haughty  spirit  was  ill  at  ease ;  that  he  suspected  a  sort  of 
meanness  in  himself ;  and  that  the  thought  that  he  had  in  any  way  stooped  or  con- 
descended was  gall  and  wormwood.      His  bitterness  on  this  matter  escapes  in 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE.  xxix 

various  and  characteristic  ways.  At  one  time  he  treats  the  matter  with  imperial 
disdain,  declaring  that  he  does  not  intend  "  to  seek  honour  from  his  profession  ; " 
at  another  time  in  a  set  of  impromptu  verses  he  mocks  at  his  occupation  and  him- 
self, illuminating  the  whole  business  with  a  flame  of  spleenful  mirth.  But  the  step 
he  had  taken  was  unquestionably  a  prudent  one,  and  if  it  miscarried,  it  miscarried 
from  foreign  causes.  From  every  account  which  survives,  he  was  an  excellent  and 
2ealous  officer,  and  into  his  work  he  carried  eyes  which  were  at  once  sharp  and 
kindly.  It  was  not  in  his  nature  to  be  harsh  or  tyrannical.  A  word  revealed 
secrets  to  him,  a  glance  let  him  into  the  bearings  of  a  case ;  and  while  he  saw  that 
the  interests  of  Government  did  not  materially  suffer,  his  good  nature  and  kind- 
heartedness  were  always  at  hand  to  make  matters  as  pleasant  as  possible.  One  or 
two  of  these  Excise  anecdotes  are  amongst  the  pleasantest  remembrances  we  have 
of  Burns.  His  professional  prospects  were  on  the  whole  far  from  despicable.  On 
his  farm  he  was  losing  money,  health,  and  hope ;  but  in  the  Excise  he  looked 
forward  to  advancement — an  Inspectorship  or  Supervisorship  being  regarded  as 
within  his  reach. 

If  Ellisland  had  only  been  profitable,  Burns  might  have  been  considered  a  fortu- 
nate man.  For  his  own  wants  and  for  those  of  his  family  the  cottage  which  he  had 
built  sufficed.  The  scenery  around  him  was  beautiful.  He  was  on  good  terms 
with  the  neighbouring  proprietors,  and  his  reputation  attracted  visitors  from  many 
quarters;  He  procured  books  from  Edinburgh  and  from  the  circulating  library 
which — with  that  regard  for  mental  means  and  appliances  which  seems  to  have 
been  a  characteristic  of  his  race — he  had  established  in  the  vicinity.  Every  other 
day  letters  and  newspapers  were  arriving  at  Ellisland,  connecting  him  with  distant 
places  and  events ;  and  the  stranger  who  dropped  in  upon  him  from  London  or 
Edinburgh,  or  even  from  places  more  remote,  brought  talk,  ideas,  observations  on 
this  thing  and  the  other  more  or  less  valuable,  stimulus,  excitement — all  tending  to 
enrich  intellectual  life.  And  during  this  time  he  was  no  mental  sluggard.  He 
worked  his  brain  as  he  worked  his  servants  on  the  acres  at  Ellisland,  or  his  horse 
as  he  rode  on  the  scent  of  a  smuggler  through  the  Nithsdale  moors.  He  carried 
on  a  multifarious  correspondence,  he  wrote  his  letters  carefully — only  a  little  too 
carefully  sometimes,  for  he  is  occasionally  modish  and  over-dressed.  Every  other 
week  he  sent  a  packet  of  songs  to  Johnson  for  his  Museiimy  which  had  now  reached 
the  third  volume.  He  interested  himself  in  local  politics  and  scribbled  election- 
eering ballads.  One  evening,  when-  the  past — heavy  with  unshed  tears— lay  near 
his  heart,  he  composed  the  strain,  To  Mary  in  Heaven  ;  and  in,  the  course  of  one 
summer  day,  in  a  perfect  riot  and  whirlwind  of  ecstasy,  every  faculty  and  power  in 
full  blossom,  he  dashed  off  Tarn  O'  Shanter—  immortal,  unapproachable  !  If  Ellis- 
land had  but  paid,  Burns  might  have  been  happy  as  farmer  and  poet, — or  as 
Exciseman,  farmer  and  poet, — for  the  characters  were  by  no  means  incompatible,  j 
.As  but  for  his  Excise  salary  Burns  must  have  succumbed  under  farming  dimcul- 


xxx  BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE, 

ties,  he  was  now  anxious  to  be  quit  of  Ellisland,  and  to  confine  himself  entirely  to 
his  official  duties ;  and  it  so  happened  that  Mr.  Miller  was  willing  to  release  him  of 
the  portion  of  the  lease  which  was  yet-to  run,  preparatory  to  a  final  sale  of  that  part 
of  the  lands.  The  Ellisland  crops  were  sold,  and  the  sale  was  made  the  occasion  of 
a  drunken  orgie.    On  the  1st  September,  Burns  writes  to  Mr.  Thomas  Sloan  : 

"  I  sold  my  crop  on  this  day  se'en-night,  and  sold  it  very  well.  A  guinea  an 
acre  on  an  average  above  value.  But  such  a  scene  of  drunkenness  was  hardly 
ever  seen  in  this  country.  After  the  roup  was  over  about  thirty  people  engaged  in 
a  battle,  every  man  for  his  own  hand,  and  fought  it  out  for  three  hours.  Nor  was 
the  scene  much  better  in  the  house.  No  fighting  indeed,  but  folks  lying  drunk  on 
the  floor,  and  decanting,  until  both  my  dogs  got  so  drunk  by  attending  on  them 
that  they  could  not  stand.  You  will  easily  guess  how  I  enjoyed  the  scener  as  I  was 
no  farther  over  than  you  used  to  see  me." 

In  November  Ellisland  became  the  property  of  Mr.  Morine,  and  Burns  imme- 
diately sold  his  farm  stock  and  implements — relinquishing  for  ever  the  plough-tail,  at 
which  he  so  often  boasted  that  he  had  an  independence— and  removed  with  his  wife 
and  children  to  a  small  house  in  the  Wee  Vennel  of  Dumfries,  On  his  removal 
he  was  appointed  to  an  Excise  division,  which  improved  his  salary.  His  income 
was  now  70/.  per  annum. 

It  is  at  Dumfries  that  Burns's  story  first  becomes  really  tragical.  He  had  divorced 
himself  from  country  scenery  and  the  on-goings  of  rural  life,  which,  up  till  now, 
formed  an  appropriate  background  for  our  ideas  of  him.  Instead  of  the  knowes  and 
meadows  of  Mossgiel  and  Ellisland,  with  their  lovely  sunrises  and  twilights,  we  have 
to  connect  him  with  the  streets,  the  gossip,  and  the  dissipation  of  a  third-rate  Scot- 
tish town.  He  was  no  longer  a  farmer — he  was  a  simple  gauger,  hoping  to  obtain 
a  supervisorship.  Proud  as  was  his  spirit,  he  was  dependent  on  great  friends* ;  and 
he  condescended,  on  various  occasions,  to  write  epistles  in  prose  and  verse  which 
fawned  on  a  patron's  hand.  Natural  inspiration  and  picturesqueness  we're  taken 
out  of  his  life.  He  turned  down  no  more  daisies,  the  horned  moon  hung  no  longer 
in  the  window-pane  of  the  ale-house  in  which  he  drank ;  the  composition  of 
theatrical  prologues  engaged  his  attention  rather  than  the  composition  of  poems 
of  rustic  life.  He  was  never  rich,  but  in  Dumfries  his  poverty  for  the  first'  time 
wears  an  aspect  of  painfulness.  For  the  first  time  we  hear  of  monetary  difficulties, 
of  obligations  which  he  cannot  conveniently  meet,  of  debt.  It  was  here,  too,  that 
certain  weaknesses,  which  had  lately  grown  upon  him,  attracted  public  notice.  In 
Dumfries,  as  in  Edinburgh  at  that  time,  there  was  a  good  deal  of  tavern-life,  and 
much  hard  drinking  at  dinner  and  supper  parties,  and  the  like.  Burns  was  famous. — 
he  had  lived  in  dukes'  houses,  he  corresponded  with  celebrated  men,  he  could  talk 
brilliantly,  he  had  wit  for  every  call  as  other  men  had  spare  silver,  he  could  repeat, 
his  last  poem  or  epigram— and  as  a  consequence  his  society  was  in  great  request. 
It  was  something  to  have  dined  or  supped  in  the  company  of  Bums— if  one  was  nof 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE.  xxxi 

the  rose,  it  was  at  least  something  to  have  been  near  the  rose — and  his  host  was 
prOud  of  him,  as  he  was  proud  of  his  haunch  of  venison,  his  claret,  his  silver  epergne. 
Burns's  good  things  circulated  with  the  wine ;  his  wit  gave  a  new  relish  to  the  fruit, 
and  kindled  an  unwonted  splendour  in  the  brains  of  his  listeners.  Then  strangers, 
passing  through  Dumfries,  were  naturalry  anxious  to  see  the  poet  whose  reputation 
had  travelled  so  far.  They  invited  him  to  the  inns  in  which  they  were  living,  Burns 
consented,  frequently  the  revel  was  loud  and  late,  and  when  he  rose— after  the  sun 
sometimes — he  paid  his  share  of  the  lawing  with  "a  slice  of  his  constitution."  In 
his  younger  days  he  had  been  subjected  to  public  rebuke  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Auld  ; 
but  since  his  marriage  he  seems  to  have  been  irreproachable  in  the  matter  of  con- 
jugal fidelity.  During,  however,  an  unfortunate  absence  of  his  wife  in  Ayrshire  he 
contracted  a  discreditable  liaison,  which  resulted  in  the  birth  of  a  daughter.  Mrs. 
Burns  seems  neither  to  have  reproached  nor  complained;  she  adopted  the  child, 
and  brought  it  up  in  the  same  cradle  with  her  own  infant.  If  for  his  fault  he  had 
been  subjected  to  domestic  annoyance,  he  might  have  taken  refuge  in  pride,  and 
haughtily  repelled  reproaches  ;  but  his  wife's  forgiveness  allowed  him  to  brood — 
and  with  what  bitterness  we  can  guess — over  his  misconduct.  Doubtless  the  evil 
in  his  career  at  Dumfries  has  been  exaggerated.  Burns's  position  was  full  of  peril 
— he  was  subjected  to  temptations  which  did  not  come  in  the  way  of  ordinary  men ; 
and  if  he  drank  hard,  it  was  in  an  age  when  hard  drinking  was  fashionable.  If 
he  sinned  in  this  respect,  he  sinned  in  company  with  English  prime  ministers, 
Scotch  Lords  of  Session,  grave  dignitaries  of  the  Church  in  both  countries,  and 
with  thousands  of  ordinary  blockheads  who  went  to  their  graves  in  the  odour  of 
sanctity,  and  whose  epitaphs  are  a  catalogue  of  all  the  virtues.  Burns  was  a  man 
set  apart ;  he  was  observed,  heu  was  talked  about ;  and  if  he  erred,  it  was  like 
erring  in  the  market-place.  *  In  any  other  inhabitant  of  Dumfries,  misdemeanours 
•such  as  Burns's  would  hardly  have  provoked  remark ;  what  would  have  been 
unnoticed  on  the  hodden  grey  of  the  farmer  became  a  stain  on  the  singing  robe  of 
the  poet.  That  Burns  should  have  led  an  unworthy  life  is  to  be  deplored,  but  the 
truth  is — and  herein  lies  explanation,  palliation  perhaps — that  in  Dumfries  he  was 
somewhat  a-weary  of  the  sun.  Not  seldom  he  was  desperate  and  at  bay.  He 
was  neither  in  harmony  with  himself  nor  with  the  world.  He  had  enjoyed  one 
burst  of  brilliant  success,  and  in  the  light  of  that  success  his  life  before  and  after 
lookett  darker  than  it  actually  was.  The  hope  deferred  of  a  supervisorship  made 
his  heart  sick.  He  had  succeeded  as  a  poet,  but  in  everything  else  failure  had 
dogged  his  steps ;  and  out  of  that  poetical  success  no  permanent  benefit  had 
resulted,  or  seemed  now  in  his  need  likely  to  result.  In  the  east  were  the  colours 
of  the  dawn,  but  the  sun  would  not  arise.  His  letters  at  this  time  breathe  an  almost 
uniform  mood  of  exasperation  and  misery,  and  it  is  hard  for  a  miserable  man  to  be 
a  good  one.  He  is  tempted  to  make  strange  alliances,  and  to  pay  a  high  price  fop 
forgetfulness.    And  over  Burns's  head  at  this  time  was  suspended  one  other  black] 


xxxii  BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE. 

cloud,  which,  although  it  only  burst  in  part,  made  the  remainder  of  his  life  darker 
with  its  shadow. 

Chief  amongst  Burns's  friends  during  the  early  portion  of  his  residence  at 
Dumfries  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Riddel.  They  were  in  good  circumstances,  possessing 
a  small  estate  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  town,  and  Burns  was  frequently  their 
guest.  Mrs.  Riddel  was  young  and  pretty,  and  distinguished  by  literary  taste  and 
accomplishment.  She  wrote  verses  which  Burns  praised,  and  he  introduced  her  to 
his  friend  Smellie,  the  naturalist,  who  was  enchanted  with  her  vivacity  and  talent. 
But  this  pleasant  relationship  was  destined  to  be  interrupted.  On  the  occasion  of 
a  dinner-party  at  Woodley  Park,  the  residence  of  Mr.  Riddel,  when  wine  flowed 
much  too  freely,  Burns — in  some  not  quite  explained  manner — grievously  offended 
his  hostess.  On  the  following  morning  he  apologised  in  prose  and  Yerse,  threw 
the  onus  of  his  rudeness  on  Mr.  Riddel's  wine — which  was  the  next  thing  to 
blaming  Mr.  Riddel  himself— and  in  every  way  expressed  regret  for  his  conduct,  and 
abhorrence  of  himself.  These  apologies  do  not  seem  to  have  been  accepted,  and 
for  a  time  the  friends  ceased  to  meet.  Burns  was  hurt  and  angry,  and  he  made 
the  lady  he  was  accustomed  to  address  in  adoring  verses  and  high-flown  epistles  the 
subject  of  cruel  and  unmanly  lampoons.  The  estrangement  was,  of  course,  noised 
abroad,  and  people  were  inclined  to  side  with  the  fashionable  lady  rather  than 
with  the  Jacobinical  exciseman.  For  a  time  at  least,  Dumfries  regarded  Burns 
with  a  lowering  and  suspicious  eye,  one  reason  of  which  may  be  found  in  his  quarrel 
with  the  Riddels  and  its  cause,  and  another  in-  the  political,  principles  which  he 
professed  to  hold,  and  to  which  he  gave  imprudent  expression. 

His  immediate  ancestors  had  perilled  something  in  the  cause  of  the  Stuarts,  and 
Burns,  in  his  early  days,  was  wont  to  wear  a  sentimental  Jacobitism— for  ornamentV 
sake,  like  a  ring  on  the  finger,  or  a  sprig  of  heather  in  the  bonnet.  This  Jacobitism 
was  fed  by  his  sentiment  and  his  pOetry.  It  grew  out  of  the  House  of  Stuart  as 
flowers  grow  out  of  the  walls  of  ruins.  But  while  he  held  the  past  in  reverence, 
and  respected  aristocracy  as  an  outcome  of  that  past,  a  something  around  which 
tradition  and  ballad  could  gather,  there  was  always  a  fierce  democratic  impulse  in 
his  mind,  which  raged  at  times  like  the  ocean  tide  against  the  Bullers  of  Buchan. 
This  democratic  feeling,  like  his  other  feeling  of  Jacobitism,  rested  on  no  solid 
foundation.  He  had  a  strong  feeling  that  genius  and  worth  are  always  poor,  that 
baseness  and  chicanery  are  always  prosperous.  He  considered  that  the  good  things 
of  this  life  were  secured  by  the  rascals  more  or  less.  The  truth  is,  his  Jacobitism 
sprang  from  his  imagination,  his  Radicalism  from  his  discontent ;  the  one  the 
offspring  of  the  best  portion  of  his  nature,  the  other  the  offspring  of  the  worst. 
Radicalism  was  originally  born  of  hunger  ;  and  Burns,  while  denouncing  the  rulers 
of  his  country,  was  simply  crying  out  under  his  own  proper  sore.  He  passionately 
carried  particulars  into  generals*  He  was  sick,  and  so  was  the  whole  body  politic. 
He  needed  reform,  so,  of  course,  did  the  whole  world,  and  it  was  more  agreeable 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE.  xxxiii 

to  begin  with  the  world  in  the  first  instance.  He  was  imprudent  in  the  expression 
of  his  political  opinions,  and  was  continually  doing  himself  injury  thereby.  He  had 
written,  as  we  have  seen,  treasonable  verses  on  the  inn  window  at  Stirling ;  and 
although  on  a  subsequent  visit  he  dashed  out  the  pane,  he  could  not  by  that 
means  destroy  the  copies  which  were  in  circulation.  The  writing  of  the  verses 
referred  to  was  imprudent  enough,  but  the  expression  of  his  Radicalism  at  Dumfries 
— which  was  a  transient  mood,  not  a  fixed  principle  with  him — was  more  imprudent 
still.  In  the  one  case  he  was  a  private  individual,  anxious  to  enter  the  Excise  ; 
in  the  other,  he  had  entered  the  Excise,  was  actually  a  Government  officer,  and  in 
receipt  of  a  Government  salary.  Besides,  too,  the  times  were  troublous  :  there  was 
seditious  feeling  in  the  country,  France  had  become  a  volcano  in  active  eruption, 
and  European  business  was  carried  on  in  its  portentous  light.  It  became  known 
that  Burns  looked  with  favour  on  the  revolutionary  party  across  the  Channel,  that 
he  read  newspapers  which  were  opposed  to  the  Government,  and,  as  a  consequence, 
by  the  well-to-do  inhabitants  of  Dumfries  he  was  regarded  with  suspicion.  This 
suspicion  was,  of  course,  wretched  enough,  but  Burns  need  not  have  gone  .out  of  his 
way  to  incur  it.  He  knew  perfectly  well  that  his  Radicalism  was  based  on  no  serious 
conviction,  that  it  grew  out  of  personal  discontent?  and  that  the  discontent  was  the 
result  of  wounded  pride,  and  the  consciousness  that  he  had  not  shaped  his  life  aright. 
Besides  all  this,  he  seems  to  have  lost  self-command;  he  was  constantly  getting  into 
scrapes  from  which  there  could  be  no  honourable  extrication.  He  burned  his  fingers, 
and  he  did  not  dread  the  fire.  To  the  Subscription  Library  in  Dumfries  he  pre- 
sented, amongst  other  volumes,,  a  copy  of  De  Lolme  on  the  British  Constitution ',  and 
inscribed  on  the  back  of  the  portrait  of  the  author,  "  Mr.  Burns  presents  this  book 
to  the  Library,  and  begs  they  will  take  it  as  a  creed  of  British  liberty— until  they 
find  a  better.  R.  B. "  And  next  morning  he  came  to  the  bedside  of  the  gentleman 
who  had  the  volume  in  custody,  imploring  to  see  De  Lolnie>  as  he  feared  he  had 
written  something  in  it  that  might  bring  him  into  trouble.  We  hear  of  him  at  a 
private  dinner-party,  when  the  health  of  Pitt  was  proposed,  giving  "  The  health  of 
George  Washington— a  better  man,"  and  of  his  being  sulky  that  his  toast  was  not 
received.  He  had  already  sent  a  present  of  guns  to  the  French  Convention,  with 
which  our  prospect  of  war  was  at  this  time  becoming  imminent ;  and  at  a  later  period 
we  find  him  quarrelling  with  an  officer  on  the  subject  of  another  toast,  and  writing 
apologies  to  the  effect,  firstly,  that  when  the  offence  was  committed  he  was  drunk ; 
and  secondly,  that  he  could  not  fight  a  duel,  because  he  had  the  welfare  of 
others  to  care  for.  When  the.  Board  of  Excise  ordered  some  inquiries  to  be  made 
regarding  his  political  conduct,. he  wrote  Mr.  Graham  of  Fintry,  declaring  that  "To 
the  British  Constitution,  on  revolution  principles,  next  after  my  God,  I  am  most 
devoutly  attached."  He  was  in  a  state  of  chronic  exasperation  at  himself,  at  the 
rich  people  of  his"  acquaintance  and  of  his  immediate  neighbourhood,  and  at  the 
world  generally  5  and  his  exasperation  was  continually  blazing  out  in  sarcasm  and 


xxxiv  BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE. 

invective.  Curiously  enough,  too,  when  one  thinks  of  it,  during  all  this  bitter  time, 
he  was  writing  songs  for  Mr.  Thomson,  who  had  opened  a  correspondence  with  him. 
He  was  busy  with  Chloris  and  Phillis,  while  thrones  were  shaking,  and  the  son  of 
S_aint  Louis  knelt  on  the  scaffold,  and  Marie  Antoinette  during  her  trial  was 
beating  out  with  weary  fingers  a  piano  tune  on  the  bench  before  her.  Every  other 
week  up  from  Dumfries  to  Edinburgh  came  by  the  fly  a  packet  of  songs  for  the  new 
publication.  On  one  occasion  came  the  stern  war-ode,  Scots  wha  hae  zui '  Wallace 
bled,  which  Mr.  Thomson  thought  susceptible  of  improvement.  But  Burns  was 
inexorable ;  he  liked  his  ode,  and  as  it  was  it  should  remain.  It  has  been  said, 
that  by  the  more  respectable  circles  in  Dumfries  Burns  was  regarded  with  suspicion, 
if  not  with  positive  dislike.  Some  evidence  of  this  will  be  found  in  the  anecdote 
related  by  Mr.  Lockhart.  "  Mr.  M'Culloch,"  we  are  informed  by  that  biographer, 
"was  seldom  more  grieved  than  when,  riding  into  Dumfries  one  fine  summer 
evening  to  attend  a  county  ball,  he  saw  Burns  walking  alone  on  the  shady  side  of 
the  principal  street  Of  the  town,  while  the  opposite  side  was  gay  with  successive 
groups  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  all  drawn  together  for  the  festivities  of  the  night, 
not  one  of  whom  appeared  willing  to  recognise  him.  The  horseman  dismounted 
and  joined  Burns,  who,  on  his  proposing  to  him  to  cross  the  street,  said,  *  Nay, 
nay,  my  young  friend,  that's  all  over  now  j*  and  quoted,  after  a  pause,  some  verses 
of  Lady  fjrizel  Baillie's  pathetic  ballad  : 

'  His  bonnet  stood  ance  fir  fair  on  his  brow. 
His  auld  ane  looked  better  than  monv  ane's  new  ; 
But  now  he  let's  wear  ony  gate  it  will  hing, 
And  casts  himsel'  dowie  upon  the  corn-bing. 

'  Oh,  were  we  young  as  we  ance  hae  been, 
We  sud  hae  been  galloping  down  on  yon  green, 
And  linking  it  ower  the  lily-white  lea — 
And  werena  my  heart  light  I  wad  die.' 

Burns  then  turned  the  conversation,  and  took  his  young  friend  home  with  him  till, 
the  time  for  the  ball  arrived." 

This — with  the  exception  of  the  actual  close — was  the  darkest  period  in  Burns' s 
life.  In  a  short  time  the  horizon  cleared  a  -little.  The  quarrel  with  Mrs.  Riddel 
was  healed,  and  in  a  short  time  books  and  poems  were  exchanged  between  them  as 
of  yore.  He  appears  also  to  have  had  again  some  hope  of  obtaining  a  supervisor- 
ship— Ithe  mirage  that  haunted  his  closing  years.  Meanwhile,  political  feeling 
had  become  less  bitter ;  and,  in  1795,  he  exhibited  his  friendliness  to  the  institutions 
of  the  country  by  entering  himself  one  of  a  corps  of  volunteers  which  was  raised  in 
•Dumfries,  and  by  composing  the  spirited  patriotic  song,  Does  haughty  Gaul  inva- 
sion threat  ?  This  song  became  at  once  popular ;  and  it  showed  the  nation  that 
the  heart  of  the  writer  was  sound  at  the  core,  that  he  hated  anarchy  and  tyranny 
alike,  and  wished  to  steer  a  prudent  middle  course.  Better  days  were  dawning  ; 
but  by  this  time  the  hardships  of  his  youth,  his  constant  anxieties,  his  hoping 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE.  xxxv 

against  hope,  and  his  continual  passionate  stress  and  tumult  of  soul,  began  to  tell 
on  a  frame  that  was  originally  powerful.     In  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,.in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  year,  we*  have,  under  his  own  hand,  the  first  warning  of  failing  strength. 
"What  a  transient  businesses  life,"  he  writes.     "Very  lately  I  was  a  boy;  but 
t'other  day  I  was  a  young  man  ;  and  I  already  begin  to  feel  the  rigid  fibre  and 
stiffening  joints  of  old  age  coming  fast  over  my  frame. "    In  spite  of  breaking  health, 
he  attended  his  Excise  duties,  and  the  packets  of  songs  were  sent  regularly  from 
Dumfries  to  Edinburgh.     In  the  songs  there  was  no  symptom  of  ache  or  pain  ;  in 
these  his  natural  vigour  was  in  no  wise  abated.     The  dew  still  hung,  diamond-like, 
upon  the  thorn.     Love  was  still  lord  of  all.     On  one  occasion  he  went  to  a  party 
at  the  Globe  Tavern,  where  he  waited  late,  and  on  his  way  home,  heavy  with  liquor, 
he  fell  asleep  in  the  open  air.     The  result,  in  his  weakened  state  of  body,  was  dis- 
astrous.   He  was  attacked  by  rheumatic  fever,  his  appetite  began  to  fail,  his  black 
eyes  lost  their  lustre,  his  voice  became  tremulous  and  hollow.     His  friends  hoped 
that,  if  he  could  endure  the  cold  spring  months,  the  summer  warmth  would  revive 
him  ;  but  summer  came,  and  brought  no  recovery.     He  was  now  laid  aside  from 
his  official  work.     During  his  illness  he  was  attended  by  Miss  Jessie  Lewars,  a  sister 
of  his  friend  Lewars—"  a  fellow  of  uncommon  merit ;  indeed,  by  far  the  cleverest 
fellow  I   have  met  in  this  part  of  the  world " — and  her  kindness   the  dying 
poet  repaid  by  the  only  thing  he  Was  rich  enough  to  give — a  song  of  immortal 
sweetness.     His  letters  at  this  time  are  full  of  his  disease,  his  gloomy  prospects, 
his  straitened  circumstances.     In  July  he  went  to  Brow,  a  sea-bathing  village  on 
the  Sol  way,  where  Mrs.  Riddel  was  then  residing,  in  weak  health,  and  there  the 
friends— for  all  past  bitternesses  were  now  forgotten — had  an  interview.     "Well, 
Madam,   have  you  any  commands  for  the  other  world  ? "  was  Burns's  greeting. 
He  talked  of  his  approaching  decease  calmly,  like  one  who  had  grown  so  familiar 
with  the  idea  that  it  had  lost  all  its  terror.     His  residence  on  the  Solway  was  not 
productive  of  benefit  :  he  was  beyond  all  aid  from  sunshine  and  the  saline  breeze. 
On  the  7th  July,  he  wrote  Mr.  Cunningham,  urging  him  to  use  his  influence  with 
the  Commissioners  of  Excise  to  grant  him  his  full  sala'ry.     "  If  they  do  not  grant  it 
me,"  he  concludes,  "  I  must  lay  my  account  with  an  exit  truly  en  po'e'le ;  if  I  die 
not  of  disease,  I  must  perish  with  hunger."  On  the  ioth  July,  he  wrote  his  brother 
Gilbert ;  and  Mrs.  Dunlop,  who  had  become  unaccountably  silent,  two  days  after. 
On  this  same  12th  July,  he  addressed  the  following  letter  to  his  cousin  :— 

u  My  dear  Cousin, — When  you  offered  me  money  assistance,  little  did  I  think 
I  should  want  it  so  soon.  A  rascal  of  a  haberdasher,  to  whom  I  owe  a  con- 
siderable bill,  taking  it  into  his  head  that  I  am  dying,  ha3  commenced  a  process 
against  me,  and  will  infallibly  put  my  emaciated  body  into  jail.  Will  you  be  so  good 
as  to  accommodate  me,  and  that  by  return  of  post,  with  ten  pounds  ?  Oh,  James-f 
did  you  know  the  pride  of  my  heart,  you  would  feel  doubly  for  me' !    Alas  !  I  am 

€9 


xxxvi  BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE. 

'  not  used  to  beg.  The  worst  of  it  is,  my  health  was  coming  about,  finely.  You 
know,  and  my  physician  assured  me,  that  melancholy  and  low  spirits  are  half  my 
disease — guess,  then,  my  horror  since  this  business  began.  If  I  had  it  settled, 
I  would  be,  I  think,  quite  well,  in  a  manner.  How  shall  I  use  the  language  to 
you  ? — oh,  do  not  disappoint  me  !  but  strong  necessity's  curst  command. 

u  Forgive  me  for  once  more  mentioning  by  return  of  post— save  me  from  the 
horrors  of  a  jail. 

"  My  compliments  to  my  friend  James,  and  to  all  the  rest.  I  do  not  know  what 
I  have  written.     The  subject  is  so  horrible  I  dare  not  look  over  it  again.     Farewell. 

"R.  B." 

On  the  same  day  he  addressed  Mr.  Thomson :— * 

"  After  all  my  boasted  independence,  curst  necessity  compels  me  to  implore  you 
for  five  pounds.  A  cruel  scoundrel  of  a  haberdasher,  to  whom  I  owe  an  account, 
taking  it  into  his  head  that  I  am  dying,  has  commenced  a  process,  and  will  in- 
fallibly put  me  in  jail.  Do,  for  God's  sake,  send  me  that  sum,  and  that  by  return 
of  post.  Forgive  me  this  earnestness ;  but  the  horrors  of  a  jail  have  made  me  half 
distracted.  I  do  not  ask  all  this  gratuitously  ;  for,  upon  returning  health,  I  hereby 
promise  and  engage  to  furnish  you  with  five  pounds'  worth  of  the  neatest  song- 
genius  you  have  seen.  I  tried  my  hand  on  Rothemurchie  this  morning.  The 
measure  is  so  difficult,  that  it  is  impossible  to  infuse  much  genius  into  the  lines ; 
they  are  on  the  other  side.    Forgive,  forgive  me !  " 

This  was  Burns's  last  working  day.  He  wrote  his  song  in  the  morning,  Fairest 
Maid  on  Devon  Banks,  and  the  two  letters  afterwards — to  both  of  which  answers 
were  promptly  returned.  He  soon  after  left  the  Solway  and  returned  to  Dumfries, 
where  his  wife  was  daily  expected  to  be  confined.  He  came  home  in  a  small  spring 
cart,  and  when  he  alighted  he  was  unable  to  stand.  The  hand  of  death  was 
visibly  upon  him.  His  children  were  sent  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Lewars  :  Jessie  was 
sedulous  in  her  attentions*  On  the  2ist,  he  sank  into  delirium  ;  his  children  were 
brought  to  see  him  for  the  last  time  ;  and  with  an  execration  on  the  legal  agent 
who  had  threatened  him,  the  troubled  spirit  passed.  Those  who  came  to  see  him 
as  he  lay  in  his  last  sleep  were  touched  and  affected.  Mighty  is  the  hallowing  of 
death  to  all, — to  him  more  than  to  most.  As  he  lay  stretched,  his  dark  locks 
already  streaked  with  unnatural  grey,  all  unworthiness  fell  away  from  him— every 
stain  of  passion  and  debauch,  every  ignoble  word,  every  ebullition  of  scorn  and 
pride — and  left  pure  nobleness.  Farmer  no  longer,  exciseman  no  longer,  subject  no 
longer  to  criticism,  to  misrepresentation,  to  the  malevolence  of  mean  natures  and 
evil  tongues,  he  lay  there  the  great  poet  of  his  country,  dead  too  early  for  himself 
and  for  it.  He  had  passed  from  the  judgments  of  Dumfries,  and  made  his  appeal 
.10  Time. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE.  xxxvii 

Of  Burns,  the  man  and  poet,  what  is  there  left  to  be  said  ?  During  his  lifetime 
he  was  regarded  as  a  phenomenon  ;  and  now,  when  he  has  been  seventy  years  in 
his  grave,  he  is  a  phenomenon  still.  He  came  up  from  Ayrshire  with  all  the  sense 
and  shrewdness  of  its  peasantry,  the  passion  of  its  lovers,  the  piety  of  its  circles  of 
family  worship,  the  wild  mirth  of  its  kirns  and  halloweens.  Of  all  the  great  men 
of  the  North  Country,  his  was  incomparably  the  fullest  soul.  What  fun  he  had, 
what  melancholy,  what  pity,  what  anger,  what  passion,  what  homely  sagacity, 
what  sensitiveness  !  Of  everything  he  was  brimful  and  overflowing.  It  is  difficult 
to  carry  a  full  cup  and  not  to  spill  it.  He  had  his  errors,  but  they  arose  out  of  his 
splendid  and  perilous  richness.  As  a  man  he  was  full  of  natural  goodness,  but  he 
was  unreticent  even  amongst  poets.  We  know  the  best  and  the  worst,  of  him; 
and  he  has  himself  frankly  told  us  that  best  and  that  worst.  He  had  to  fight  with 
adverse  circumstances,  he  died  before  he  had  run  his  race,  and  his  fame — greater 
than  that  of  any  other  poet  of  his  country — rests  upon  poems  written  swiftly,  as 
men  write  their  letters,  and  on  songs  which  came  to  him  naturally  as  its*  carol  comes 
to  the  blackbird. 

Of  all  poets  Burns  was,  perhaps,  the  most  directly  inspired.  His  poems  did  not 
grow — like  stalactites — by  the  slow  process  of  accretion  ;  like  Adam,  they  had  no 
childhood— they  awoke  complete.  Burns  produced  all  his  great  effects  by  single 
strokes.  In  his  best  things  there  is  an  impetus,  a  hurry,  which  gives  one  the  idea 
of  boundless  resource.  To  him  a-  song  was  the  occupation  of  a  morning ;  his 
poetic  epistles  drive  along  in  a  fiery  sleet  of  words  and  images  :  his  Tarn  Of  Shanter 
was  written  in  a  day — since  Bruce  fought  Bannockburn,  the  best  single  day's  work 
done  in  Scotland  Bums  was  never  taken  by  surprise  ;  he  was  ready  for  all  calls 
and  emergencies.  He  had  not  only — like  Addison— a  thousand-pound  note  at 
home,  but  he  had — to  carry  out  the  image — plenty  of  loose  intellectual  coin  in  his 
pocket.  A  richer  man — with  plenty  of  money  in  his  purse,  and  able  to  get  the 
money  out  of  his  purse  when  swift  occasion  required — Nature  has  seldom  sent  into 
the  world. 

Born  and  bred  as  he  was  in  the  country,  we  find  in  Burns  the  finest  pictures  of 
rural  life.  We  smell  continually  the  newly-turned  earthy  the  hawthorn  blossom, 
the  breath  of  kine.  His  shepherds  and  shepherdesses  are  not  those  who  pipe  and 
make  love  in  Arcady  and  on  Sevres  china — they  actually  work,  receive  wages, 
attend  markets,  hear  sermons,  go  sweetheart ing,  and,  at  times,  before  the  con- 
gregation endure  rebuke.  The  world  he  depicts  is  a  real  world,  and  the  men  and 
women  are  also  real.  Burns  had  to  sweat  in  the  eye  of  Phoebus,  and  about  all  he 
writes  there  is  an  out-of-doors  feeling.  Although  conversant  with  sunrises  and 
sunsets,  the  processes  of  vtgetation,  and  all  the  shows  and  forms  of  nature,  he 
seldom  or  never  describes  these  things  for  their  own  sake ;  they  are  always  kept 
in  subordination  to  the  central  human  interest.  Burns  cared  little  for  the  natural 
pictyresqu^  in  itself;  the  moral  picturesque  toughed  him  more  nearly,     Al* 


xxxviii  BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE. 

old  soldier  in  tattered  scarlet  interested  him  more  than  an  old  rain  ;  he  pre- 
ferred a  gnarled  character  to  a  gnarled  tree.  The  ridges  of  Arran  haunt 
Ayrshire — Burns  must  daily  have  seen  them  from  his  door  at  Mossgiel— and 
yet,  to  this  most  striking  object,  in  his  range  of  vision,  there  is  not  a  single 
allusion  in  his  letters  and  poems.  If  Wordsworth  had  been  placed  in  the  same 
environment,  bow  he  would  have  made  his  suns  rise  or  set  on  Arran !  After 
all,  it  is  usually  the  town-poets — men  like  Hunt  and  Keats — who  go  philandering 
after  nature,  who  are  enraptured  by  the  graceful  curvature  of  ferns  and  the  colours 
of  mosses  and  lichens.  Burns  had  an  exquisite  delight  in  Nature,  especially  in  her 
more  sombre  and  gloomy  aspects  ;  but  he  took  a  deeper  interest  in  man,  and,  as  a 
consequence,  the  chief  interest  of  his  poems  is  of  a  moral  kind.  We  value  them 
not  so  much  for  their  colour,  their  harmony,  their  curious  felicities  of  expression, 
as  for  the  gleams  of  sagacity,  the  insight  into  character,  the  strong  homely  sense, 
and  those  wonderful  short  sentences  scattered  everywhere.  Of  those  short  lines  and 
sentences*  now  sly,  now  caustic,  now  broadly  humorous,  now  purely  didactic,  no 
writings,  if  Shakespeare's  be  excepted,  have  a  greater  abundance.  They  circulate 
everywhere  like  current  coin  ;  they  have  passed  like  iron  into  the  blood  of  our  com 
mon  speech.  Of  Burns's  conversation  in  Edinburgh  we  have  little  recorded  that  is 
specially  characteristic — and  for  this  we  blame  not  Burns,  but  his  reporters.  The 
best  thing— indeed,  the  only  true  and  deep  thing — is  the  simple  statement  which 
struck  Dugald  Stewart  so  much  when  the  pair  were  standing  on  the  Braid  hills, 
looking  out  on  the  fair  morning  world.  Beneath  were  cottages,  early  sparrows 
doubtless  noisy  in  the  thatch,  pillars  of  blue  smoke,  telling  of  preparation  of 
breakfast  for  labourers  afield,  curling  in  the  calm  air.  Burns  took  in  the  whole 
landscape,  and  declared  that,  in  his  view,  the  worthiest  object  it  contained  was  the 
cluster  of  smoking  cots,  knowing  as  he  did,  what  worth,  what  affection,  what  pious 
contentment  and  happiness,  nestled  within  them.  This  really  is  a  gleam  into  the 
man's  inmost  soul.  Poetry,  to  him,  lay  in  the  cottage  rather  than  in  the  tree  that 
overshadowed  it,  or  the  stream  that  sparkled  past  it.  In  one  of  his  poems  he  lays 
down  the  doctrine  in  express  terms — 

"To  mak  a  happy  fireside  clime 

To  weans  and  wife, 
That's  the  true  pathos  and  sublime 
Of  human  life." 

The  poetiy  of  a  man  so  intensely  humane  is  certain  to  come  home  to  the  bosoms 
and  businesses  of  all  other  men — powerfully  to  the  happy,  more  powerfully  to  the 
miserable,  who  are  ever  in  the  majority.  To  the  wretched,  out  of  the  Bible,  there 
is  no  such  solace  as  the  poetry  of  Burns.  His  genius  comes  to  their  hovels,  their 
poor  bread  wetted  with  tears,  as  Howard  came  to  the  strong  places  of  pestilence — 
irradiating,  consoling ;  like  the  hearing  of  soft  tones,  like  the  touches  of  tender 
hands.     And  then  his  large  friendliness  flows  out  in  every  direction.    The  "  ir.  juse  " 


BIOGRAPHICAL  PREFACE.  xxxix 

is  his  "poor  earth-born  companion  and  fellow-mortal."  He  pities  the  "silly 
sheep,"  and  the  "  cluttering -wing"  of  the  bird  perched  on  the  frozen  spray.  The 
farmer  speaks  to  his  old  mare  "Maggie"  as  he  would  to  a  comrade,  who  had 
shared  with  him  his  struggles,  toils,  and  triumphs.  The  poetry  of  Burns  flows 
into  a  wintry  world,  like  a  tepid  gulf-stream— mitigating  harsh  climates,  breathing 
genial  days,  carrying  with  it  spring-time  and  the  cuckoo's  note. 

Of  his  humour  again — which  is  merely  his  love  laughing  and  playing  antics  in 
very  extravagance  of  its  joy— what  can  be  said,  except  that  it  is  the  freshest,  most 
original,  most  delightful  in  the  world?  What  a  riot  of  fun  in  Tarn  C  S/ia  titer ; 
what  strange  co -mixture  of  mirth  and  awfulness  in  Death  and  Dr.  Hotnbook  ;  what 
extravaganza  in  the  Address  to  a  Haggis!  To  Burns's  eye  the  world  was  dark 
enough,  usually  ,  but  on  the  gala  days  and  carnivals  of  his  spirit  Mirth  rules  the 
hour,  ragged  Poverty  dances  all  the  lighter  for  his  empty  pockets,  Death  himself 
grins  as  he  is  poked  in  the  lean  ribs.  And  if,  as  is  said,  from  the  sweetest  wine 
you  can  extract  the  sourest  vinegar,  bne'can  fancy  into  what  deadly  satire  this  love 
will  congeal  itself,  when  it  becomes  hate.  Burns  hates  his  foe — be  it  man  or 
doctrine — as  intensely  as  he  loves  his  mistress.  Holy  Willi? s  Prayer  is  a  satirical 
crucifixion— slow,  lingering,  inexorable.  He  hated  Hypocrisy,  he  tore  its  holy  robe, 
and  for  the  outrage  Hypocrisy  did  not  forgive  him  while  he  lived,  nor  has  it  yet 
learned  to  forgive  him. 

If  we  applaud  the  Roman  Emperor  who  found  Rome  brick  and  left  it  marble, 
what  shall  we  say  of  the  man  who  found  the  songs  of  his  country  indelicate  and  left 
them  pure— who  made  wholesome  the  air  which  the  spirit  and  the  affections  breathe  ? 
And  Burns  did  this.  He  drove  immodesty  from  love,  and  coarseness  from  humour. 
And  not  only  did  he  purify  existing  Scottish  Song ;  he  added  to  it  all  that  it  has 
of  best  and  rarest.  Since  his  day,  no  countryman  of  his,  whatever  may  be  his  mood, 
need  be  visited  by  a  sense  of  solitariness,  or  ache  with  a  pent-up  feeling.  If  he  is 
glad,  he  will  find  a  song  as  merry  as  himself ;  if  sad,  he  will  find  one  that  will  sigh 
with  his  own  woe.  In  Burns's  Songs,  love  finds  an  exquisite  companionship  ;  in- 
dependence a  backer  and  second  ;  conviviality  a  roaring  table,  and  the  best  fellows 
round  it ;  patriotism  a  deeper  love  of  country,  and  a  gayer  scorn  of  death  than  even 
its  own.  And  in  so  adding  to,  and  purifying  Scottish  song,  Burns  has  conferred 
the  greatest  benefit  on  his  countrymen  that  it  is  in  the  power  of  a  poet  to  confer. 


CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE 


OF 


BURNS'S    LIFE    AND    WORKS, 


ALLOWAY. 

1759. 

January  25.— Robert  Burns  born  at  Alloway,  parish  of  Ayr,  in  a  clay-built 
cottage,  the  work  of  his  father's  own  hands.  His  father,  William  Burnes  (so  the 
family  name  was  always  written  until  changed  by  the  poet),  was  a  native  of  Kincar- 
dineshire, born  November  II,  1721.  His  mother,  Agnes  Brown,  born  March  17, 
1732,  was  daughter  of  a  farmer  in  Carrick,  Ayrshire.  The  poet's  parents  were 
married  December  15,  1 75 7.  William  Burnes  was  then  a  gardener  and  farm-overseer. 

1765— (^t at.  Six). 

Sent  to  a  school  at  Alloway  Mill,  kept  by  one  Campbell,  who  was  succeeded  in 
May  by  John  Murdoch,  a  young  teacher  of  uncommon  merit,  engaged  by  William 
Burnes  and  four  of  his  -neighbours,  who  boarded  him  alternately  at  their  houses, 
and  guaranteed  him  a  small  salary.  Two  advantages  were  thus  possessed  by 
the  poet    an  excellent  father  and  an  excellent  teacher. 

MOUNT  OLIPHANT. 

1766— (Seven). 

William  Burnes  removed  to  the  farm  of  Mount  Oliphant,  two  miles  distant. 
His  sons  still  attended  Alloway  school.  The  books  used  were  a  Spelling  Book. 
the  New  Testament ',  the  Bible,  Masori 's  Collection  of, Prose  and  Verse,  and  Fisher's 
English  Grammar. 

1768— (Nine). 

Murdoch  gave  up  Alloway  school.  Visiting  the  Burnes  family  before  his  depar- 
ture, he  took  with  him,  as  a  present,  the  play  of  Titus  Andronicus;  he  read  part 
of  the  play  aloud,  but  the  horrors  of  the  scene  shocked  and  distressed  the  children, 


xU  CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE. 

and  P.abcrt  threatened  to  burn  the  book  if  it  was  left !  Instead  of  it  Murdoch  gave 
them  a  comedy,  the  School  for  Love  (translated  from  the  French)  and  an  English 
Grammar.  He  had  previously  lent  Robert  a  Life  of  Hannibal.  "  The  earliest 
composition  that  I  recollect  taking  anypleasure  in,"  says  the  poet,  "was  the  Vision 
of  Mirza  and  a  hymn  of  Addison's  beginning  How  are  Thy  servants  blest ',  0  Lord! 
I  particularly  remember  one  half-stanza,  which  was  music  to  my  boyish  ear 

*  For  though  in  dreadful  whirls  wc  hung 
High  on  the  broken  wave ! '  ■ 

He  had  found  these  in  Mason's  Collection.  The  latent  seeds  of  poetry  were 
further  cultivated  in  his  mind  by  an  old  woman  living  in  the  family,  Betty  David- 
son, who  had  a  great  store  of  tales,  songs,  ghost-stories,  and  legendary  lore. 


I770-(Eleyen). 

By  the  time  he  was  ten  or  eleven  years  of  age  he  was  an  excellent  English 
scholar,  "a  critic  in  substantives,  verbs,  and  particles."  After  the  departure  of 
Murdoch,  William  Burnes  was  the  only  instructor  of  his  sons  and  other  children. 
He  taught  them  arithmetic,  and  procured  /or  their  use  Salmon's  Geographical 
Grammar ;  Derham's  Physics  and  Astro-  Theology \  and  Ray's  Wisdom  of  God  in  the 
Creation.  These  gave  the  boys  some  idea  of  Geography,  Astronomy,  and  Natural 
History.  He  had  also  Stack/tense's  History  of  the  Bible,  Taylor's  Scripture  Doctrine 
of  Original  Sin,  a  volume  of  English  History  (reigns  of  James  I.  and  Charles  I. ). 
The  blacksmith  lent  the  common  metrical  Life  of  Sir  William  Wallace  (which  was 
read  with  Scottish  fervour  and  enthusiasm),  and  a  maternal  uncle  supplied  a  Collec- 
tion of  Letters  by  the  wits  of  Queen  Anne's  reign,  which  inspired  Robert  with  n 
strong  desire  to  excel  in  letter- writing. 


1772— (Thirteen). 

To  improve  their  penmanship,  William  Burnes  sent  his  sons,  week  about,  during 
the  summer  quarter,  to  the  parish' school  of  Dalrymple,  two  or  three  miles  distant. 
This  year  Murdoch  was  appointed  teacher  of  English  in  Ayr  school,  and  he  re- 
newed his  acquaintance  with  the  Burnes  family,  sending  them  Pope's  Works  and 
"some  other  poetry." 


1773— (Fourteen). 

Robert  boarded  three  weeks  with  Murdoch  at  Ayr  in  order  to  revise  his  English 
Grammar.  He  acquired  also  a  smattering  of  French,  and  on  returning  home  he 
took  with  him  a  French  Dictionary  and  French  Grammar,  and  a  copy  of  Telimaqae. 
He  attempted  Latin,  but  soon  abandoned  it. 


CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE.  xliii 


1774— (Fifteen). 

His  knowledge  of  French  introduced  him  to  some  respectable  families  in  Ayr 
(Dr.  Malcolm's  and  others).  A  lady  lent  him  the  Spectator,  Pope's  Homer,  and 
several  other  books.  In  this  year  began  with  him  love  and  poetry.  His  partner 
in  the  harvest-field  was  a  "bewitching  creature"  a  year  younger  than  himself,  Nelly 
Kilpatrick,  daughter  of  the  blacksmith,  who  sang  sweetly,  and  on  her  he  after, 
wards  wrote  his  first  song  and  first  effort  at  rhyme,  0,  once  I  loved  a  bottie  lass. 


1775— (Sixteen). 

About  this  time  Robert  was  the  principal  labourer  on  the  farm.  From  the  un- 
productiveness of  the  soil,  the  loss  of  cattle,  and  other  causes,  William  Burnes  had 
got  into  pecuniary  difficulties,  and  the  threatening  letters  of  the  factor  (the  landlord 
being  dead)  used  to  set  the  distressed  family  all  in  tears.  The  character  of  the 
factor  is  drawn  in  the  Tale  of  Tiva  Dogs.  The  hard  labour,  poor  living,  and 
sorrow  of  this  period  formed  the  chief  cause  of  the  poet's  subsequent  fits  of  melan- 
choly, frequent  headaches,  and  palpitation  of  the  heart. 


1776— (Seventeen). 

Spent  his  seventeenth  summer  (so  in  poet's  MS.  British  Museum  ;  Dr.  Currie 
altered  the  date  to  nineteenth)  on  a  smuggling  coast  in  Ayrshire,  at  Kirkoswald,  on 
purpose  to  learn  mensuration,  surveying,  &c.  He  made  good  progress,  though 
mixing  somewhat  in  the  dissipation  of  the  place,  which  had  then  a  flourishing 
contraband  trade.  Met  the  second  of  his  poetical  heroines,  Peggy  Thomson, 
on  whom  he  afterwards  wrote  his  fine  song  Arow  westlin  winds  and  slaughtering 
guns.  The  charms  of  this  maiden  "overset  his  trigonometry  and  set  him  off  at  a 
tangent  from  the  sphere  of  his  studies."  On  his  return  from  Kirkoswald  ("in  my 
seventeenth  year"  he  writes)  he  attended  a  dancing  school  to  "give  his  manners  a 
brush."  His  father  had  an  antipathy  to  these  meetings,  and  his  going  "in  ab- 
solute defiance  of  his  father's  commands"  {sicm  orig.)  was  an  "instance  of  rebellion" 
which  he  conceived  brought  on  him  the  paternal  resentment  and  even  dislike. 
Gilbert  Burns  dissents  altogether  from  this  conclusion  :  the  poet's  extreme  sensi- 
bility and  regret  for  his  one  act  of  disobedience  led  him  unconsciously  to  exaggerate 
the  circumstances  of  the  case.  At  Kirkoswald  he  had  enlarged  his  reading  by 
the  addition  of  Thomson* s  and  Shenstone^s  Works,  and  among  the  other  .books  to 
which  he  had  access  at  this  period,  besides  those  mentioned  above,  were  some  plays 
of  Shakespeare,  Allan  Ramsay's  Works,  Hervey's  Meditations,  and  a  Select  Collec> 
(ion  of  English  Songs  ("The  Lark,"  2  vols.).  This  last  work  was,  he  says,  his 
vade  mecum  ;  he  pored  over  it  driving  his  cart  or  walking  to  labour,  and  carefully 
noted  the  true  tender  or  sublime  from  affectation  and  fustian.  He  composed  thU 
year  two  stanzas^  /  dredm'd  J  lay  where  flowers  were,  springing. 


xliv  CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE. 

LOCHLEA. 

1777— (Eighteen). 

William  Burnes  and  family  remove  to  a  larger  farm  at  Lochlea,  parish  of 
Tarbolton.  Take  possession  at  Whitsunday.  Affairs  for  a  time  look  brighter,  and 
all  work  diligently.  Robert  and  Gilbert  have  £7  per  annum  each,  as  wages,  from 
their  father,  and  they  also  take  land  from  him  for  the  purpose  of  raising  flax  on 
their  own  account.  "Though,  when  young,  the  poet  was  bashful  and  awkward  in 
his  intercourse  with  women,  as  he  approached  manhood  his  attachment  to  their 
society  became  very  strong,  and  he  was  constantly  the  victim  of  some  fair  enslaver." 
[Gilbert  Burns.)  He  was  in  the  secret,  he  says,  ol  alf  the  loves  of  the  parish  of 
Tarbolton  I 

1778— (Nineteen). 

"I  was,"  he  says,  "about  eighteen  or  nineteen  when  I  sketched  the  outlines  of 
a  tragedy."  The  whole  had  escaped'his  memory  except  a  fragment  of  twenty  lines  : 
All  devil  as  I  am,  &>c. 

1780— (Twenty-one). 

The  "  Bachelors'  Club  "  established  at  Tarbolton  by  Robert  and  Gilbert  Burns, 
and  five  other  young  men.  Meetings  were  held  once  a  month  and  questions 
debated.     The  sum  expended  by  each  member  was  not  to  exceed  threepence. 

1781— (Twenty-two). 

David  Sillar  admitted  a  member  of  the  Bachelors'  Club.  He  describes  Burns: 
"I  recollect  hearing  his  neighbours  observe  he  had  a  great  deal  to  say  for  himself, 
and  that  they  suspected  his  principles  (his  religious  principles).  He  wore  the  only 
tied  hair  in  the  parish,  and  in  the  church  his  plaid.,  which  was  of  a  particular 
colour,  I  think  fillemot,  he  wrapped  in  a  particular  manner  round  his  shoulders. 
Between  sermons  we  often  took  a  walk  in  the  fields  ;  in  these  walks  I  have  fre- 
quently been  struck  by  his  facility  in  addressing  the  fair  sex,  and  it  was  generally  a 
death-blow  to  our  conversation,  however  agreeable,  to  meet  a  female  acquaintance. 
Some  book  he  always  carried  and  read  when  not  otherwise  employed.  It  was  like- 
wise his  custom  to  read  at  table.  In  one  of  my  visits  to  Lochlea,  in  time  of  a 
sowen  supper,  he  was  so  intent  on  reading,  I  think  Tristram  Shandy,  that  his 
spoon  falling  out  of  his  hand  made  him  exclaim  in  a  tone  scarcely  imitable,  *  Alas, 
poor  Yorick  ! '"  The  poet  had  now  added  to  his  collection  of  books  Mackenzie's 
Afan  of  .Feeling  (which  he  said  he  prized  next  to  the  Bible)  and  Man  of  the 
World,  Sterne's  Works,  and  Macpherson's  Ossian.  He  would  appear  also  to  have 
had  the  poetical  works  of  Young.  Among  the  fair  ones  whose  society  he  courted 
Was  a  superior  young  woman,  bearing  the  unpoetical  name  of  Ellison  Begbie.     She 


*  CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE.  xlv 

was  the  daughter  of  a  small  farmer  at  Galston,  but  was  servant  With  a  family  on 
the  banks  of  the  Cessnock.  On  her  he  wrote  a  "  song  of  similes,"  beginning  On 
Cessnock  banks  there  lives  a  lass,  and  the  earliest  of  his  printed  correspondence  is 
addressed  to  Ellison.  His  letters  are  grave,  sensible  epistles,  written  with  remark- 
able purity  and  correctness  of  language.  At  this  time  poesy  was,  he  says,  "  a 
darling  walk  for  his  mind."  The  oldest  of  his  printed  pieces  were  Winter,  a  Dirge, 
the  Death  of  poor  Ma  Hie,  John  Barleycorn,  and  the  three  songs  //  was  upon  a 
Lammas  night,  Now  ivestlin  winds  and  slaughtering  guns,  and  Behind  yon  hills 
where  Slinchar  floivs.  We  may  add  to  these  0  Tibbie  I  hue  seen  the  day  and  My 
Father  was  a  Farmer.  His  exquisite  lyric  0  Mary,  at  thy  window  be,  was  also, 
he  says,  one  of  his  juvenile  works. 


1782— (Twenty-three). 

Ellison  Begbie  refuses  his  hand.  She  was  about  to  leave  her  situation,  and  he 
expected  himself  to  "remove  a  little  further  off."  He  went  to  the  town  of  Irvine. 
44 My  twenty-third  year,"  he  says,  "was  to  me  an  important  era.  Partly  through 
whim,  and  partly  that  I  wished  to  set  about  doing  something  in  life,  I  joined  a 
flax-dresser  in  a  neighbouring  town,  to  learn  his  trade,  and  carry  on  the  business  of 
manufacturing  and  retailing  flax.  This  turned  out  a  sadly  unlucky  affair.  My 
partner  was  a  scoundrel  of  the  first  water,  who  made  money  by  the  mystery  of 
thieving,  and  to  finish  the  whole,  while  we  were  giving  a  welcoming  carousal  to  the 
New  Year,  our  shop,  by  the  drunken  carelessness  of  my  partner's  wife,  took  fire, 
and  was  burned  to  ashes ;  and  left  me,  like  a  true  poet,  not  worth  a  sixpence."  *  In 
Irvine  his  reading  was  only  increased,  he  says,  by  two  volumes  of  Pamela,  and 
one  of  Ferdinand,  Count  Fathom,  which  gave  him  some  idea  of  novels.  Rhyme, 
except  some  religious  pieces  that  are  in  print,  he  had  given  up,  but  meeting  with 
FergussoiC  s  Scottish  Poems,  he  "strung  anew  his  lyre  with  emulating  vigour."  He 
also  formed  a  friendship  for  a  young  fellow,  "a  very  noble  character,"  Richard 
Brown,  and  with  others  of  a  freer  manner  of  thinking  and  living  than  he  had  been 
used  to,  "the  consequence  of  which  was,"  he  says,  "that  soon  after  I  resumed  the 
plough,  I  wrote  the  Poet's  Welcome  "  (to  his  illegitimate  child).  But  this  was  not  till 
the  summer  of  1 784.     Before  leaving  Lochlea  he  became  a  Freemason. 

•  From  orig.  in  Brit.  Museum.  Burns  wrote  an  interesting  and  affecting  letter  to  his  father,  from 
Irvine.  Dr.  Currie  dates  it  1781,  which  we  think  is  an  error.  The  poet's  statement  is  corroborated 
by  his  brother's  narrative,  and  the  stone  chimney  of  the  room  occupied  by  the  poet  is  inscribed, 
evidently  by  his  own  hand,  "  R.  B.  1782."     He  consoled  himself  for  his  loss  after  this  fashion  :— 

*'0,  why  the  deuce  should  I  repine, 
And  be  an  ill  foreboder? 
I'm  twenty-three,  and  five  feet  nine, 
I'll  go  and  be  a  sodger." 


xlvi  CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE. 


MOSSGIEL. 

17  8<& — (Twenty-five). 

February  13th. — William  Burncs  died  at  Ldchlea,  in  his  64th  year,  his  affairs  in 
utter  'ruin.  His  sons  and  two  grown-up  daughters  ranked  as  creditors  of  their 
father  for  arrears  of  wages,  and  raised  a  little  money  to  stock  another  farm.  This 
new  farm  was  that  of  Mossgiel,  parish  of  Mauchline,  which,  had  been  sub-let  to  them 
by  Gavin  Hamilton,  writer  (or  attorney)  in  Mauchline.  They  entered  on  the  farm 
in  March:  "Come,  go  to,  I  will  be  wise,"  resolved  the  poet,  but  bad  seed  and  a 
late  harvesUdeprived  them  of  half  their  expected  crop.  Poetry  was  henceforth  to  be 
the  only  successful  vocation  of  Robert  Burns.  To  this  year  may  be  assigned  the 
Epistle  to  John  Rankine  (a  strain  of  rich  humour,  but  indelicate),  and  some  minor 
pieces.  In  April  or  May  he  commenced  his  acquaintance  with  "Boniejean" — 
Jean  Armour— an  event  which  coloured  all  his  future  life,  imparting  to  it  its 
brightest  lights  and  its  darkest  shadows. 

1785— (Twenty-six). 

In  January  the  Epistle  to  Davie  completed  :  Death  and  Doctor  Hornbook  written 
about  February.  Epistles  to  J.  Lapraik,  April  1,  21,  and  September  13.  Epistle 
to  W.  Simpson  in.  May.  The  Tzva  Herds,  or  the  Holy  Tulzie:  this  satire  was  the 
first  of  his  poetic  offspring  that  saw  the  light  (excepting  some  of  his  songs),  and  it 
was  received  by  a  certain  description  of  the  clergy,  as  well  as  laity,  with  a  "roar  of 
applause."  Burns  had  now  taken  his  side  with  the  New  Light,  or  rationalistic 
section  of  the  church,  then  in -violent  antagonism  to  the  Auld  Light,  or  evangelistic 
party,  which  comprised  the  great  bulk  of  the  lower  and  middling  classes.  To  this 
year  belong  The  Jolly  Beggars,  Halloween,  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  Man  was 
made  to  Mourn,  Address  to  the  Dcil,  To  a  Mouse,  A  Winter  Night,  Holy  Willies 
Prayer,  and  The  Holy  Fair  (early  MS.  in  British  Museum),  Epistle  to  James 
Smith,  &c. 

17  as— (Twenty-seven). 

In  rapid  succession  were  produced  Scotch  Drink,  The  Author  s  Earnest  Cry  and 
Prayer,  The  Twa  Dogs,  The  Ordination,  Address  to  the  Unco  Guid,  To  a  Mountain 
Daisy,  Epistle  to  a  Young  Friend,  A  Bard*  5  Epitaph,  The  Lament,  Despondency, 
&c.  Such  a  body  of  original  poetry,  written  within  about  twelve  months — poetry  so 
natural,  forcible,  and  picturesque,  so  quaint,  sarcastic,  humorous,  and  tender — had 
unquestionably  not  appeared  since  Shakespeare.  Misfortunes,  however,  were  gather- 
ing round  the  poet.  The  farm  had  proved  a  failure,  and  the  connexion  with  Jean 
Armour  brought  grief  and  shame.  He  gave  her  a  written  acknowledgment  of 
marriage,  but  at  the  urgent  entreaty  of  her  father  she  consented  that  this  document 
should  be  destroyed.  The  poet  was  frantic  with  distress  and  indignation.  He 
resolved  on  quitting  the  country,  engaged  to  go  out  to  Jamaica  as  book-keeper  on 


CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE.  xlvii 

an  estate,  and  to  raise  money  for  his  passage  arranged  to  publish  his  poems. 
Subscription  papers  were  issued  in  April.  In  the  meantime,  in  bitter  resentment 
of  the  perfidy,  as  he  esteemed  it,  of  the  unfortunate  Jean  Armour,  he  renewed  his 
intimacy  with  a  former  love,  Mary  Campbell,  or  "Highland  Mary,"  who  had  been 
a  servant  in  the  family  of  Gavin  Hamilton,  and  was.  now  dairy-maid  at  Coilsfield. 
He  proposed  marriage  to  Mary  Campbell,  v/as  accepted,  and  Mary  left  her  service 
and  went  to  her  parents  in  Argyleshire,  preliminary  to  her  union  with  the  poet. 
They  parted  on  the  banks  of  the  Ayr,  on  Sunday,  May  14th,  exchanging  Bibles 
and  vowing  eternal  fidelity.  No  more  is  heard  of  Mary  until  after  her  death,  which 
took  place  in  October  of  this  year.  The  Poems  were  published  in  August,  an 
edition  of  600  copies,  and  were  received  with  enthusiastic  applause.  The  poet 
cleared  about  20/.  by  the  volume,  took  a  passage  in  the  first  ship  that  was  to  sail 
from  the  Clyde  (nothing  is  said  of  Mary  accompanying  him),  and  was  preparing  to 
embark,  when  a  letter  from  Dr.  Blacklock,  offering  encouragement  for  a  second 
edition,  roused  his  poetic  ambition,  and  led  him  to  try  his  fortune  in  Edinburgh. 
Before  starting  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Dunlop,  of  Dunlop,  the  most 
valued  and  one  of  the  most  accomplished  of  his  correspondents. 

EDINBURGH. 

November  28th,  1786. — Burns  reaches  the* Scottish  capital,  and  instantly  becomes 
the  lion  of  the  season.  He  is  courted  and  caressed  by  the  witty,  the  fashionable, 
and  the  learned — by  Dugald  Stewart,  Harry  Erskine,  Hugh  Blair,  Adam  Ferguson, 
Dr.  Robertson,  Lord  Monboddo,  Dr.  Gregory,  Fraser  Tytler,  Lord  Glencairn, 
Lord  Eglinton,  Patrick  Miller  (the  ingenious  laird  of  Dalswinton),  the  fascinating 
Jane,  Duchess  of  Gordon,  Miss  Burnet,  &c.  Henry  Mackenzie,  the  "Man  of 
Feeling,"  writes  a  critique  on  the  Poems  in  the  Lounger— the,  members  of  the 
Caledonian  Hunt  subscribe  for  a  hundred  copies  of  the  new  edition — and  the  poet 
is  in  a  fair  way,  as  he  says,  of  becoming  as  eminent  as  Thomas  a  Kempis  or  John 
Bunyan. 

1787— (T  WENT  Y-EIGHT). 

Burns  applies,  for  and  obtains  permission  to  erect  a  tombstone  in  Canongate 
Churchyard  over  the  remains  of  Fergusson  the  poet.  In  April  appears  the  second 
edition  of  the  Poems,  consisting  of  3,cxx>  copies,  with  a  list  of  subscribers  prefixed, 
and  a  portrait  of  the  poet.  In  this  edition  appeared  Death  and  Doctor  Hornbook,  the 
Ordination,  and  Address  to  the  Unco  Gnid,  which  were  excluded  from  the  first 
edition,  and  several  new  pieces,  the  best  of  which  are  the  Brigs  of  Ayr  and  Tarn 
Samson's  Elegy.  On  5th  of  May  the  poet  sets  off  on  a  tour  with  a  young  friend, 
Robert  Ainslie,  in  order  to  visit  the  most  interesting  scenes  in  the  south  of  Scotland. 
Crossing  the  Tweed  over  Coldstream  bridge,  Burns  knelt  down  on  the  English  side 
and  poured  forth,  uncovered,  and  with  strong  emotion,  the  prayer  for  Scotland 
contained  in  the  two  last  stanzas  of  the  Cotters  Saturday  Night.  June  4th,  he  was 
made  an  honorary  burgess  of  the  town  of  Dumfries,  after  which  he  proceeded  to 


Xlviii  CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE. 

Ayrshire,  and  arrived  at  Maucbline  on  the  9th  of  June.  "It  will  easily  be  con- 
ceivedj"  says  Dr.  Currie,  "with  what  pleasure  and  pride  he  was  received  by  his 
mother,  his  brothers,  and  sisters.  He  had  left  them  poor  and  comparatively 
friendless ;  he  returned  to  them  high  in  public  estimation,  and  easy  in  his  circum- 
stances." At  this  time  the  poet  renewed  his  intimacy  with  Jean  Armour.  Towards 
the  end  of  the  month  he  made  a  short  Highland  tour,  in  which  he  visited  Loch 
Lomond  and  Dumbarton,  and  returning  to  Mauchline,  we  find  him  (July  25th) 
presiding  as  Depute  Grand  Master  of  the  Tarbolton  Mason  Lodge,  and  admitting 
Professor  Dugald  Stewart,  Mr.  Alexander  of  Ballochmyle,  and  others,  as  honorary 
members  of  the  Lodge.  On  the  25th  of  August  the  poet  set  off  from  Edinburgh  on 
a  northern  tour  with  William  Nicol  of  the  High  School.  They  visited  Bannock- 
burn,  spent  two  days  at  Blair  with  the  Duke  of  Athole  and  family,  proceeded  as  far 
as  Inverness,  then  by  way  of  Elgin,  Fochabers  (dining  with  the  Duke  and  Duchess 
of  Gordon),  on  to  Aberdeen,  Stonehaven,  and  Montrose,  where  he  met  his  relatives 
the  Burneses.  Arrived  at  Edinburgh  on  the  16th  September.  In  December  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Clarhida,  or  Mrs.  M'Lehose,  with  whom  he  kept  up  a 
passionate  correspondence  for  about  three  months.  Overset  by  a  drunken  coach- 
man, and  sent  home  with  a  severely  bruised  knee,  which  confined  him  for  several 
weeks.  Mr.  A.  Wood,  surgeon  "lang  sandy  Wood,"  applies  to  Mr.  Graham 
of  Fin  try,  Commissioner  of  Excise,  and  gets  Burns's  name  enrolled  among  the 
number  of  expectant  Excise  officers.  During  all  this  winter  the  poet  zealously 
assists  Mr.  James  Johnson  in  his  publication,  the  Scots  Musical  Museum. 

1788— (Twenty-nine). 

Left  Edinburgh  for  Dumfries  to  inspect  Mr.  Miller's  lands  at  Dalswinton. 
Stopped  by  the  way  at  Mossgiel,  February  23d..  Poor  Jean  Armour,  who  had 
again  loved  not  wisely,  but  too  well,  was  living  apart,  separated  from  her  parents, 
and  supported  by  Burns.  He  visited  her  the  day  before  his  departure  for  Dum- 
fries (apparently  February  24th),  and  it  is  painful  to  find  him  writing  thus  to 
Clarinda — "I  this  morning,  as  I  came  home,  called  for  a  certain  woman.  I  am 
disgusted  with  her.  I  cannot  endure  her.  I,  while  my  heart  smote  me  for  the 
profanity,  tried  to  compare  her  with  my  Clarinda;  'twas  setting  the  expiring 
glimmer  of  a  farthing  taper  beside  the  cloudless  glory  of  the  meridian  sun.  Here 
was  tasteless  insipidity,  vulgarity  of  soul,  and  mercenary  fawning ;  there,  polished 
good  sense,  Heaven-born  genius,  and  the  most  generous,  the  most  delicate,  the 
most  tender  passion.  I  have  done  with  her,  and  she  with  me."*  In  less  than  two 
months  they  were  married  !  In  this,  as  in  the  Highland  Mary  episode,  Burns's 
mobility,  or  "excessive  susceptibility  of  immediate  impressions"  t  seems  something 
marvellous,  and  more  akin  to  the  French  than  the  Scotch  character.  Returned  to 
Edinburgh  in  March,  and  on  the  13th  took  a  lease  of  the  farm  of  Ellisland,  on  the 

*  From  the  original,  published  in  Banffshire  Journal. 

t  So  defined  by  Byron,  who  was  himself  a  victim  to  this  "unhappy  attribute."  See  "Don  Juan," 
canto  xyi.  97, 


CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE.  xlix 

banks  of  the  Nith.  On  the  19th  settled  with  Creech,  the  profits  from  the  Edin- 
burgh edition  and  copyright  being  about  500/.,  of  which  the  poet  gave  180/.  to  his 
brother  Gilbert,  as  a  loan,  to  enable  him  to  continue  (with  the  family)  at  Mossgiel. 
In  the  latter  end  of  April  Burns  was  privately  married  to  Jean  Armour,  and  shortly 
afterwards  wrote  on  her  his  two  charming  songs  Of  cC  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw 
and  Ot  were  Ion  Parnassus  hill  / 

ELLISLAND. 

In  June  the  poet  went  to  reside  on  his  farm,  his  wife  remaining  at  Mauchline 
until  a  new  house  should  be  built  at  Ellisland.  Formed  the  acquaintance  of 
Captain  Riddel  of  Glenriddel,  a  gentleman  of  literary  and  antiquarian  tastes,  who 
resided  at  Friars  Carse,  within  a  mile  of  Ellisland.  On  28th  June  wrote  Verses  in 
Friars  Carse  ^Hermitage.  August  5th,  the  poet  at  Mauchline  made  public  acknow- 
ledgment of  his  marriage  before  the  Kirk  Session,  at  the  same  time  giving  "a 
guinea  note  for  behoof  of  the  poor."  In  December  conducted  Mrs.  Burns  to  the 
banks  of  the  Nith.    /  hae  a  wife  <f  my  ain  ! 

1789— (Thirty). 

Visited  Edinburgh  in  February,  and  received  about  50/.  more  of  copyright 
money  from  Creech.  August  18,  son  born  to  the  poet,  named  Francis  Wallace. 
About  the  same  time  received  appointment  to  the  Excise.  October  16,  the  great 
bacchanalian  contest  for  the  Whistle  took  place  at  Friars  Carse  in  presence  of  the 
poet.  *On  the  20th  of  October  (as  calculated,  and  indeed  proved  by  Mr.  Chambers) 
the  sublime  and  affecting  lyric,  To  Mary  in  Heaven,  was  composed.  Met  Grose 
the  antiquary  at  Friars  Carse,  and  afterwards  wrote  the  humorous  poem  On 
Captain  Grose's  Peregrinations.  In  December  was  written  the  election  ballad  'The 
Five  Carlines. 

1790— (Thirty-one). 

January  11.— Writes  to  Gilbert  that  his.  farm  is  a  ruinous  affair.  On  the  14th, 
addressing  his  friend  Mr.  Dunbar,  W.S.  relative  to  his  Excise  appointment,  he 
says :  "  I  found  it  a  very  convenient  business  to  have  50/.  per  annum ;  nor  have  I 
yet  felt  any  of  those  mortifying  circumstances  in  it  I  was  led  to  fear."  The  duties 
were  hard ;  he  had  to  ride  at  least  200  miles  every  v/eek,  but  he  still  contributed 
largely  to  the  Scots  Musical  Museum,  wrote  the  elegy  On  Captain  Matthew  Hen- 
derson (one  of  the  most  exquisite,  of  the  poet's  productions),  and  in  autumn 
produced  Tarn  O1  Shanter,  by  universal  assent  the  crowning  glory  and  master- 
piece of  its  author. 

1791— (Thirty-  two). 
In  February  wrote  Lament  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  and  Lament  for  James  Earl 
pf  Glencairn,     In  March  had  his  right  arm  broken  by  the  fall  of  his  horse,  and 


1  CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE. 

was  for  some  weeks  disabled  from  writing.  In  this  month  also  occurred  an  event 
which  probably  caused  deeper  pain  than  the  broken  arm.  First,  as  Mr.  Chambers 
says,  "we  have  a  poor  girl  lost  to  the  reputable  world ;"  (this  was  "  Anna  with  the 
gowden  locks,"  niece  to  the  hostess  of  the  Globe  Tavern;)  "next  we  have  Burns 
seeking  an  asylum  for  a  helpless  infant  at  his  brother's ;  then  a  magnanimous  wife 
interposing  with  the  almost  romantically  generous  offer  to  become  herself  its  nurse 
and  guardian."*  April  9,  a  third  son  born  to  the  poet,  and  named  William  Nicol. 
At  the  close  of. the  month  the  poet  sold  his  crop  at  Ellisland,  "and  sold  it  well." 
Declined  to  attend  the  crowning  of  Thomson's  bust  at  Ednam,  but  wrote  verses 
for  the  occasion.  In  November  made  a  short  visit— his  last— to  Edinburgh,  and 
shortly  afterwards  wrote  his  inimitable  farewell  to  Clarinda,  Ae  fond  kiss  and  then 
-we  sever.  The  fourth  stanza  of  this  song  Sir  Walter  Scott  said  contained  "  the 
essence  of  a  thousand  love  tales." 

DUMFRIES. 

At  Martinmas  (Nov.  1 1)  the  poet  having  disposed  of  his  stock  and  other  effects 
at  Ellisland,  and  surrendered  the  lease  of  the  farm  to  Mr.  Miller  the  proprietor, 
removed  with  his  family  to  the  town  of  Dumfries.  He  occupied  for  a  year  and  a 
half  three  rooms  of  a  second  floor  on  the  north  side  of  Bank  Street  (then  called 
the  Wee  Vennel).  On  taking  up  his  residence  in  the  town,  Burns  was  well 
received  by  the  higher  class  of  inhabitants  and  the  neighbouring  gentry.  One  of 
the  most  accomplished  of  the  latter  was  Mrs.  Walter  Riddel  {nee  Maria  Woodley), 
then  aged  only  about  eighteen.  This  lady,  with  her  husband,  a  brother  of 
Captain-  Riddel  of  Glenriddei,  lived  on  a  small  estate  about  four  miles  from 
Dumfries,  which  in  compliment  to  the  lady  they  called  Woodley  Park  (now 
Goldielea). 

1792— (Thirty-three). 

February  27. — Burns  behaved  gallantly  in  seizing  and  boarding  a  smuggling  brig 
in  the  Solway.  The  vessel,  with  her  arms  and  stores,  was  sold  by  auction  in 
Dumfries,  and  Burns  purchased  four  carronades  or  small  guns,  for  which  he  paid 
3/.  These  he  sent,  with  a  letter,  to  the  French  Convention,  but  they  were  retained 
at  Dover  by  the  Custom-house  authorities.  This  circumstance  is  supposed  to  have 
drawn  on  the  poet  the  notice  of  his  jealous  superiors.  He  warmly  sympathised 
with  the  French  people  in  their  struggle  against  despotism,  and  the, Board  of 
Excise  ordered  an  inquiry  into  the-  poet's  political  conduct,  though  it  is  doubtful 
whether  any  reprimand  was  ever  given  him,  In  September  Mr.  George  Thomson, 
Edinburgh,  commenced  his  publication  of  national  songs  and  melodies,  and  Burns 

*  Mrs.  Burns  was  much  attached  to  the  child,  who  remained  with  her  till  she  was  seventeen 
years  of  age,  when  she  married  a  soldier,  John  Thomson  of  the  Stirling  Militia.  She  is  still 
living,  and  strongly  resembles  her  father.  Poor  Anna  the  mother  felt  deeply  the  disgrace :  she, 
however,  made  a  decent  marriage  ia  Leith,  but  died  comparatively  voung,  without  any  family  by 
her  husband. 


CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE.  li 

cordially  lent  assistance  to  the  undertaking,  but  disclaimed  all  idea  or  acceptance 
of  pecuniary  remuneration.  On  the  14th  of  November  he  transmitted  to  Thomson 
the  song  of  Highland  Mary,  and  next  month  one  of  the  most  arch  and  humorous 
of  all  his  dittier ^  Duncan  Cray  cam  here  to  woo. 


1793— (Thirty-four). 

The  poet  continues  his  invaluable  and  disinterested  labours  for  Mr.  Thomson's 
publication.  In  July  he  makes  an  excursion  into  Galloway  with  his  friend  Mr. 
Syme,  stamp  distributor,  and  according  to  that  gentleman  (though  Burns's  own 
Statement  on  the  subject  is  different)  he  composed  his  national  song,  Scots  wha  luxe, 
in  the  midst  of  a  thunder-storm  on  the  wilds  of  Kenmure.  The  song  was  sent  to 
Thomson  in  September,  along  with  one  no  less  popular,  Auld  Lang  Syne.  At 
Whitsuntide  the  poet  removed  from  the  "  Wee  Vennel "  to  a  better  house  (rent  8/. 
per  annum)  in  the  Mill-hole  Brae  (now  Burns  Street),  and  in  this  house  he  lived  till 
his  death.    His  widow  continued  to  occupy  it  till  her  death,  March  26,  1834. 


1794.— (Thirty-five). 

At  a  dinner-party  at  Woodley  Park  on  one  occasion  the  poet,  like  most  of  the 
guests,  having  exceeded  in  wine,  was  guilty  of  some  act  of  rudeness  to  the 
accomplished  hostess,  which  she  and  her  friends  resented  very  warmly.  A  rupture 
took  place,  and  for  nearly  a  twelvemonth  there  was  no  intercourse  between  the 
parties.  During  this  interval  Burns  wrote  several  lampoons  on  Mrs.  Riddel, 
wholly  unworthy  of  him  as  a  man  or  as  a  poet.  April  4,  Captain  Riddel  of 
Glenriddel  died  unreconciled  to  Burns,  yet  the  latter  honoured  his  memory  with  a 
sonnet  August  12,  another  son-  born  to  the  poet,  and  named  James  Glencairn. 
During  this  autumn  and  winter  Burns,  wrote  some  of  his  finest  songs,  inspired*  by 
the  charms  of  Jane  Lorimer,  the  "  Chloris  "  of  many  a  lyric.  In  November  he 
composed  his  lively  song,  Contented  w?  little  and  cantie  iuP  mair,  which  he 
intended  as  a  picture  of  his  own  mind,  but  it  is  only,  as  Mr.  Chambers  says,  the 
picture  of  one  aspect  of  his  mind.  Mr.  Perry  of  the  Morning  Chronicle  wishes  to 
engage  Burns  as  a  contributor  to  his.  paper,  but  the  "  truly  generous  offer "  is 
declined,  lest  connexion  with  the  Whig  journal  should  injure  his  prospects  in  the 
Excise.  For  a  short  time  he  acted  as  supervisor,  and  thought  that  his  political  sins 
were  forgiven. 

1795— (Thirty-six). 

In  January  the'  poet  composed  his  manly  and  independent  song  For  a1  that  and 
a*  that.  His  intercourse  with  Maria  Riddel  is  renewed,  and  she  sends  him 
occasionally  a  book,  or  a  copy  of  verses,  or  a  ticket  for  the  theatre.    He  never 

d% 


Hi  CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE. 

relaxes  his  genial  labours  for  the  musical  works  of  Johnson  and  Thomson,  and  he 
writes  a  series  of  election  ballads  in  favour  of  the  Whig  candidate,  Mr.  Heron, 
lie  joins  the  Dumfries-shire  corps  of  Volunteers,  enrolled  in  the  month  of  March, 
arid  writes  his  loyal  and  patriotic  song,  Does  haughty  Gaul  invasion  threat?  also 
his  fine  national  strain,  Their  groves  of  sweet  myrtle  let  foreign  lands  reckon,  and 
one  of  the  best  of  his  ballads,  Last  May  a  draw  wooer.  The  poet's  health, 
howevefY  gives  way,  ajnd  premature  age  has  set  in. 


1796— (Thirty-seven). 

The  decline  of  the  poet  is  accelerated  by  an  accidental  circumstance.  One 
night  in  January  he  sat  late  in  the  Globe  Tavern.  There  was  deep  snow  on  the 
ground,  and  in  going  home  he  sank  down  overpowered,  by  drowsiness  and  the 
liquor  he  had  taken,  and  slept  for  some  hours  in  the  open  air.  From  the  cold 
caught  on  this  occasion  he  never  wholly  recovered.  He  still,  however,  continued 
his  song- writing,  and  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  most  touching  of  his  lyrics  was 
also  one  of  his  latest.  This  was  the  song  beginning  Here's  a  health  to  ane  I  lo>e 
dear,  written  on  Jessy  Lewars,  a  maiden  of  eighteen,  sister  to  a  brother  exciseman, 
who  proved  a  "  ministering  angel"  to  the  poet  in  his  last  illness.  In  May,  another 
election  called  forth  another  ballad,  Wha  will  buy  my  troggin  ?  And  about  the 
middle  of  June  we  find  the  poet  writing  despondingly  to  his  old  friend  Johnson, 
and  requesting  a  copy  of  the  Scots  Musical  Museum  to  present  to  a  young  lady. 
This  was  no  doubt  the  copy  presented  to  Jessy  Lewars,  June  26th,  inscribed  with 
the  verses,  Thine  be  the  volumes,  Jessy  fair.  As  a  last  effort  for  nealth,  Burns  went 
on  the  4th  of  July  to  Brow,  a  sea-bathing  hamlet  on  the  Solway.  There  he  was 
visited  by  Maria  Riddel,  who  thought  "  the  stamp  of  death  was  imprinted  on  his 
features."  He  was  convinced  himself  that  his  illness  would  prove  fatal,  and  some 
time  before  this  he  had  said  to  his  wife,  "  Don't  be  afraid  :  I'll  be  more  respected  a 
hundred  years  after  I  am  dead,  than  I  am  at  present."  Mrs.  Riddel  saw  the  poet 
again  on  the  5th  of  July,  when  they  parted  to  meet  no  more.  On  the  7th  he  wrote 
to  his  friend  Alexander  Cunningham  .to  move  the  Commissioners  of  Excise  to 
continue  his  full  salary  of  50/.  instead  of  reducing  it,  as  was  the  rule  in  the  case  of 
excisemen  off  duty,  to  35/.  Mr.  Findlater,  his  superior  officer,  says  he  had  no 
doubt  this  would  have  been  done  had  the  poet  lived.  On  the  10th  Burns  wrote  to 
his  brother -as  to  his  hopeless  condition,  his  debts,  and  his  despair-;  and  on  the 
same  day  he  addressed  a  request  to  his  father-in-law,  stern  old  James  Armour,  that 
he  would  write  to  Mrs.  Armour,  then  in  Fife,  to  come  to  the  assistance  of  her 
daughter,  the  poet's  wife,  during  the  time  of  her  confinement.  His  thoughts 
turned  also  to  his  friend  Mrs.  Dunlop,  who  had  unaccountably  been  silent  for  some 
time.  He  recalled  her  interesting  correspondence  :  "  With  what  pleasure  did  I  use 
to  break  up  the  seal !  The  remembrance  adds  yet  one  pulse  more  to  my  poor 
palpitating  heart.     Farewell!"    Close  on  this  dark  hour  of  anguish  came  a 


CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE.  liii 

lawyer's  letter  urging  payment — and  no  doubt  hinting  at  the  serious  consequences 
of  non-payment — of  a  haberdasher's  account.  This  legal  missive  served  to  conjure 
up  before  the  distracted  poet  the  image  of  a  jail  with  all  its  horrors,  and  on  the 
1 2th  he  wrote  two  letters — one  to  his  cousin  in  Montrose  begging  an  advance  of  10/., 
and  one  to  Mr.  George  Thomson  imploring  5/.  "Forgive,  forgive  me!'*  He 
left  the  sea-side  on  the  18th,  weak  and  feverish,  but  was  able  the  same  day,  on 
arriving  at  his  house  in  Dumfries,  to  address  a  Second  note  to  James  Armour, 
reiterating  the  wish  expressed  six  days  before,  but  without  eliciting  any  reply — 
"  Do,  for  Heaven's  sake,  send  Mrs.  Armour  here  immediately."  From  this  period 
he  was  closely  confined  to  bed  (according  to  the  statement  of  his  widow),  and  was 
scarcely  "himself"  for  half  an  hour  together.  He  was  aware  of  this  infirmity, 
and  told  his  wife  that  she  was  to  touch  him  and  remind  him  when  he  was  going 
wrong.  One  day  he  got  out  of  his  bed,  and  his  wife  found  him  sitting  in  a  corner 
of  the  room  with  the  bed-clothes  about  him ;  she  got  assistance,  and  he  suffered 
himself  to  be  gently  led  back  to  bed.  The  day  before  he  died  he  called  very 
quickly  and  with  a  hale  voice,  "  Gilbert !  Gilbert !"  On  the  morning  of  the  21st, 
at  daybreak,  death  was  obviously  near  at  hand,"  and  the  children  were  sent  for. 
They  had  been  removed  to  the  house  of  Jessy  Lewars  and  her  brother,  in  order 
that  the  poet's  dwelling  might  be  kept  quiet,  and  they  were  now  summoned  back 
that  they  might  have  a  last  look  of  their  illustrious  father  in  life.  He  was 
insensible,  his  mind  lost  in  delirium,  and,  according  to  his  eldest  son,  his  last  words 

were,  "That  d d  rascal,  Matthew  Penn  !"— an  execration  against  the  legal 

agent  who  had  written  the  dunning  letter.  And  so  ended  this  sad  and  stormy  life- 
drama,  and  the  poet  passed,  as  Mr.  Carlyle  has  said,  "  not  softly  but  speedily  into 
that  still  country  where  the  hail-storms  and  fire-showers  do  not  reach,  and  the 
heaviest-laden  wayfarer  at  length  lays  down  his  load."  On  the  evening  of  Sunday, 
the  24th  of  July,  the  poet's  remains  were  removed  from  his  house  to  the  Town 
Hall,  and  next  day  were  interred  with  military  honours. 


CONTENTS. 


Biographical  Preface v 

POEMS. 

The  Twa  Dogs x 

Scotch  Drink 6 

The  Author's  earnest  Cry  and  Prayer .    .        9 

The  Holy  Fair 14 

Death  and  Doctor  Hornbook 190 

The  Brigs  of  Ayr 24 

The  Ordination 29 

The  Calf. 30 

Address  to  the  Deil 31 

The   Death  and  Dying  Words  of  Poor 

Mailie,  the  Author's  only  Pet  Yowe     .  33 

Poor  Mailie's  Elegy  .....-..'.  33 

To  James  Smith •  34 

A  Dream     ...........  36 

The  Vision 38 

Address  to  the  Unco  Guid,  or  the  Rigidly 

Righteous .    .  41 

Tarn  SamsOn's  Elegy     .......  42 

Halloween 44 

The  Jolly  Beggars 48 

The  Aufd  Farmer's  New- Year  Morning 

Salutation  to  his  auld  Mare,  Maggie     .  53 
^To  a  Mouse,  on  turning  her  up  in  her  nest 

with  the  plough 54 

A  Winter  Night 5S 

Epistle  to  Davie,  a  Brother  Poet    ...  57 
The  Lament,  occasioned  by  the  Unfortu- 
nate Issue  of  a  Friend's  Amour  ...  59 

Despondency 60 

Winter  , 61 

-^The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night     ....  ib. 

*"Man  was  made  to  mourn  ....<.  65 

A  Prayer,  in  the  prospect  of  Death     .    .  66 

Stanzas  on  the  same  occasion     ....  67 

Verses  left  by  Burns  in  a  Room  where  he 

slept ib. 

The  First  Psalm 68 

-"A  Prayer,  under  the  pressure  of  violent 

anguish ib. 

-  The  First  Six  Verses  of  the  Ninetieth 

Psalm ib. 

•^To  a  Mountain  Daisy,  on  turning  one 

down  with  the  plough     .;..•..  69 

To  Ruin ib. 

To  Miss  Logan,  with  Beattie's  Poems     .  70 

Epistle  to  a  Young  Friend ib. 

On  a  Scotch    Bard,   gone  to  the  West 

Indies  .    .    .  ■ 71 

To  a  Haggis 72 

A  Dedication  to  Gavin  Hamilton,  Esq.    .  ib. 
••To  a  Louse,  on  seeing  one  on  a  Lady's 

Bonnet,  at  Church 74 

Address  to  Edinburgh 75 


Page 
Epistle  to  John  Lapraik,  an  old  Scottish 

„,Bard 75 

To  the  Same .  77 

To  William  Simpson >    .    .  78 

Epistle  to  John  Rankine    .......  81 

Written  in  Friars-Carse  Hermitage      .    .  82 

Ode,  Sacred  to  the  Memory  of  M  rs.  Oswald  83 

Elegy  on  Capt.  Matthew  Henderson  .     .  ib. 
Lament  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  on  the 

Approach  of  Spring 85 

Epistle  to  R.  Graham,  Esq 86 

To  Robert  Graham,  of  Fintra,  Esq.    .     .  88 

Lament  for  James,  Earl  of  Glencairn .     .  89 
Lines  sent  to  Sir  John  Whiteford,  of  White- 

.    ford,  Bart,  with  the  foregoing  Poem     .  90 

•Tarn  o'  Shanter 91 

On  the  late  Captain  Grose's  Peregrinations 

thro'  Scotland 95 

—On  seeing  a  wounded  Hare  limp  by  me  .  96 
Address  to  the  Shade  of  Thomson,  on 

crowning  his  Bust  at  Ednam  ....  97 

To  Miss  Cruikshank '  .  tb. 

On  the  Death  of  John  M'Leod.  Esq.  .    .  ib. 
The  humble  Petition  of  Bruar.  Water  to  the 

noble  Duke  of  Athole      ......  98 

The  Kirk's  Alarm 99 

Address  to  the  Toothach xoi 

Written  with  a  pencil  over  the  Chimney- 
piece  in  the  parlour  of  the  Inn  at  Ken- 
more,  Taymouth •.    .    .  ib. 

On  the  Birth  of  a  Posthumous  Child,  bom 
in  peculiar  circumstances  of  family  dis- 
tress    .    .    .     .    , 102 

Written  with  a  pencil.  Standing  by  the  fall 

of  Fyers,  near  Loch-Ness 103 

Second  Epistle  to  Davie,  a  Brother  Poet .  ib. 
The  Inventory  of  the  Poet's  Goods  and 

Chattels   ...,.,.*..*  104 

The  Whistle 105 

Sketch,  inscribed  to  the  Right  Hon.  C.  J. 

Fox ,   .  107 

To  Dr.  Blacklock      ........  108 

Prologue  spoken  at  the  Theatre,  Ellisland  109 

Elegy  on  the  late  Miss  Burnet   ....  ib. 

The  following  Poem  was  written  to  a 
gentleman  who  had  sent  him  a  news- 
paper, and  offered  to  continue  it  free  of 

expense* ,     .     .     .    .     .  no 

Lines  on  an  Interview  with  Lord  Daer     .  1 1 1 
The  Rights  of  Woman.    Prologue  spoken 

by  Miss  Fontenelle ib. 

Address,  spoken  by  Miss  Fontenelle   .    .  112 

Verses  to  a  young  Lady .113 

Poem  on  Pastoral  Poetry  ......  U4 

Verses  to  Chloris,  with  a  copy  of  the  last 

Edition  of  his  Poems ib. 


lvi 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

Poetical  Address  to  Mr.  William  Tytler  .  115 

Sketch. — New- Year  Day 116 

Extempore,  on  Mr.  William  Smellie    .    .  ib. 

Inscription  for  an  Altar  to  Independence .  117 

Monody  on  a  Lady  famed  for  her  Caprice  ib. 
Sonnet,  on  the  Death  of  Robert  Riddel, 

Esq.  of  Glenriddel 118 

Impromptu,  on  Mrs.  Riddel's  Birthday    .  ib. 

To  Miss  Jessy  Lewars,  Dumfries    .     .    .  ib. 

Verses  written  under  violent  grief  .     .    .  119 
Extempore  to  Mr.  Syme,  on  refusing  to 

dine  with  him ib. 

To  Mr.  Syme ib. 

"^"""Sonnet,  on  hearing  a  Thrush  sing   .    .    .  ib. 

Poem,  addressed  to  Mr.  Mitchell    .     .    .  120 
Sent   to    a   Gentleman    whom   he   had 

offended m ib. 

Poem  on  Life 121 

To  Robert  Graham,  Esq.  of  Fintry     .    .  ib. 

Epitaph  on  a  Friend..  < ib. 

Verses  written  at  Selkirk 122 

Inscription  on  the  Tombstone  of  the  Poet 

Fergusson *    .    .    .    .  123 

A  Grace  before  Dinner .     . ib. 

A  Verse,  repeated  on .  taking  leave  at  a 

place  in  the  Highlands ib. 

Liberty ib. 

Fragment  of  an  Ode  to  the  Memory  of 

Prince  Charles  Edward  Stuart     .     .    .  124 

Elegy  on  the  Death  of  Robert  Ruisseaux  .  ib. 
Answer  to  Verses  addressed  to  the  Poet 

by  the  Guidwife  of  Wauchope-House  .  125 

To  J.  Lapraik »  ib. 

The  Twa  Herds   .    .     .    . 126 

To  the  Rev.  John  M'Math 128 

Holy  Willie's  Prayer 130 

Epitaph  on  Holy  Willie     ......  131 

— JDn  scaring  some  Water  Fowl  in  Loch- 

Turit    . .    .    .  132 

To  Gavin  Hamilton,  Esq.  Mauchline  .     .  tb. 

Epistle  to  Mr.  M'Adam 133 

To  Captain  Riddel,  Glenriddel   ....  tb. 
Verses  intended  to  be  written  below  a 

noble  Earl's  Picture 134 

To  Terraughty,  on  his  Birthday     .     .    .  ib. 
To  a  Lady,  with  a  present  of  a  Pair  of 

Drinking  Glasses  , ib. 

The  Vowels.    .-...■. 135 

Sketch          ib. 

Prologue  for  Mr.  Sutherland's  Benefit     \  136 

Elegy  on  the  Year  1788     .     .    .    *    .    .  137 
Verses   written    under    the    Portrait   of 

Fergusson  the  Poet tb. 

Lament,  written  at  a  time  when  the  Poet 

was  about  to  leave  Scotland    ....  138 

Delia tb. 

On  the  Death  of  Sir  James  Hunter  Blair  ib. 

To  Miss  Ferrier 140 

Verses  to  an  old  Sweetheart,  then  married  ib. 
The  Poet's  Welcome  to  his  Illegitimate 

Child ib. 

Letter  to  John  Goudie,  Kilmarnock    .     .  141 

Letter  to  James  Tennant,  Glenconner     .  ib.m 

Epistle  from  Esopus  to  Maria     ....  142 

On  a  Suicide x44 

A  Farewell *>• 


Page 

The  Farewell 144 

Epistle  to  Robert  Graham,  Esq.      .    .    .  ib. 

Stanzas  on  the  Duke  of  Queensberry  .    .  147 
Verses  on  the  Destruction  of  the  Woods 

near  Drumlanrig ib. 

Epistle  to  Major  Logan -.  148 

Epitaph  on  the  Poet's  Daughter     .     .     .  149 

Epitaph  on  Gabriel  Richardson  ....  ib. 

On  Stirling ib. 

Lines  on  being  told  that  the  foregoing 

Poem  would  affect  his  ProsDects  .    .    .  150 

The  Reply \    .    .    .    .  tb. 

Epistle  to  Hugh  Parker ib. 

Address  of  Beelzebub  to  the  President  of 

the  Highland  Society ib. 

To  Mr.  John  Kennedy 151 

On  the  Death  of  Robert  Dundas,  Esq.    .  152 

To  John  M  'Murdo,  Esq.    ...'...  153 

On  the  Death  of  a  Lap-dog,  named  Echo  ib. 

Lines  written  at  Loudon  Manse.     .     .    .  ib. 
Orthodox,  Orthodox.    A  Second  Version 

of  the  Kirk's  Alarm  ..."....  ib. 

The  Selkirk  Grace 155 

Elegy  on  the  Death  of  Peg  Nicholson     .  ib. 
On  seeing  Miss  Fontenelle  in  a  favourite 

Character ib. 

The  League  and  Covenant ib. 

On  Miss.  Jessy  Lewars 156 

Epitaph  on  Miss  Jessy  Lewars   ....  ib. 

The  Recovery  of  Jessy  Lewars  ....  ib. 

The  Toast «  .    .  ib. 

The  Kirk  of  Lamington     ......  ib. 

Written  on  a  blank  leaf  of  one  of  Miss 
•  Hannah  More's  Works,  which  she  had 

given  him ib. 

Inscription  on  a  Goblet 157 

The  Book-worms ib. 

On  Robert  Riddel ib. 

Willie  Chalmers ib. 

To  John  Taylor 158 

Lines  written  on  a  Bank-note     ....  ib. 

The  Loyal  Natives'  Verses ib. 

Burns's  Reply— Extempore ib. 

Remorse .    .    '. »    .    .  ib. 

The  Toad-Eater 159 

To ib. 

•In  vain  would  Prudence' ib. 

'  Though  fickle  Fortune ' ib. 

*  I  burn,  I  burn  *   .     .     : 160 

Epigram  on  a  noted  Coxcomb     ....  ib. 

Tarn  the  Chapman ib. 

To  Dr.  Maxwell,  on  Miss  Jessy  Craig's 

Recovery 161 

Fragment ib. 

There's  Naethin  like  the  honest  Nappy  .  ib. 
Prologue,  spoken  by  Mr.  Woods,  on  his 

Benefit-night ib. 

Nature's  Law.    A  Poem  humbly  inscribed 

toG.  H.  Esq. .    .  162 

The  Cats  like  Kitchen 163 

Tragic  Fragment ib. 

Extempore.  On  passing  a  Lady's  Carriage,  ib. 

Fragments  . 164 

Epitaph  on  William  Nicol .     .    .....    .  165 

Answer  to  a  Poetical  Epistle  sent   the 

Author  by  a  'failor    .......  ib. 


CONTENTS. 


Ivii 


Extempore  lines,  in  answer  to  a  card 
from  an  intimate  Friend  of  Burns     .     . 

Lines  written  Extempore  in  a  Ladys 
Pocket-book 

The  Henpeck'd  Husband  ..... 

Kpitaph  on  a  Henpeqk'd  Country  Squire 

Epigram  on  said  occasion  .... 

Another •     •    •    •    • 

Verses  written  on  a  Window  of  the  Inn  at 
Carron      .     .     .     .    •     •*   •    •    •     •     • 

Lines  on  being  asked  why.God  had  made 
Miss  Davies  so  little  and  Mrs.  *  *  *  so 
large 

(Epigram.    Written  at  Inverary  .... 

ft   Toast.    Given  at  a  Meeting  of  the 

F  Dumfries-shire  Volunteers 

X,ines  said  to  have  been  written  by  Burns, 
while  on  his  Death-bed,  to  John  Rankine 

Verses  addressed  to  J.  Rankine  .    .    .    . 

On  seeing  the  beautiful  seat  of  Lord 
Galloway 

On  the  Same 

On  the  Same 

To  the  Same,  on  the  Author  being  threat- 
ened with  his  Resentment 

Verses  to  J.  Rankine     ....... 

Extemporaneous  Effusion,  on  being  ap- 
pointed to  the  Excise 

On  hearing  that  there  was  Falsehood  in 
the  Rev.  Dr.  B 's  very  Looks     .    . 

Poverty •     •         ♦     . 

On  a  Schoolmaster  in  Cleish  Parish      .     . 

Lines  written  and  presented  to  Mrs. 
Kcmble 

Lines  written  on  a  Window  at  the  King's 
Arms  Tavern,  Dumfries 

Lines  written  on  the  Windowo  I  the  Globe 
Tavern,  Dumfries .     .     ;    ♦   .  •  •  •    •    • 

Extempore  in  the  Court  of  Session  .    .    . 

Lines  written  under  the  Picture  of  Miss 
Burns  ............ 

On  Miss  J.  Scott,  of  Ayr  % 

Epigram  on  Captain  Francis  Grose  ^  .    . 

Epigram  on  Elphinstone's  Translation  of 
Martial's  Epigrams    ....... 

Epitaph  on  a  Country  Laird 

Epitaph  on  a  noisy  Polemic 

Epitaph  on  Wee  Johnny    .     .          ... 

Epitaph  on  a  celebrated  ruling  Elder  .    . 

Epitaph  for  Robert  Aiken,  Esq 

Epitaph  for  Gavin  Hamilton,  Esq.  .    .    * 

A  Bard's  Epitaph .     .     .       "..... 

Epitaph  on  my  Father  .    '•■ 

Epitaph  on  John  Dove  .     .* 

Epitaph  on  John  Bushby 

Epitaph  on  a  Wag  in  Mauchline     .     .    . 

Epitaph  on  a  Person  nicknamed  'The 
Marquis' 

Epitaph  on  Walter  S '  ....... 

On  Himself 

Grace  before  Meat 

On  Commissary  Goldie's  Brains .... 

Impromptu 

Addressed  to  a  Lady  whom  the  Author 
feared  he  had  offended 

Epigram, 


Page 

166 

167 
ib. 
ib. 
ib. 
ib. 

168 


ib. 

ib. 

ib. 


ib. 
ib. 
ib. 

ib." 
170 

ib. 

ib. 
ib. 
ib. 

171 
ib. 

ib. 

ib. 

172 
ib. 

ib. 

ib. 
ib, 

'73 
lb. 

ib. 
ib.. 
ib. 
ib. 

ib. 
ib. 
ib. 

lb. 
ib. 
ib. 
ib. 
ib. 

ib. 
176 


Lines  inscribed  on  a  Platter 
To 


On  Mr.  M'Murdo 

To  a  Lady  who  was  looking  up  the  Text 

during  Sermon 

Impromptu 

To 

To  a  Painter 

Lines  written  on  a  Tumbler 

On    Mr.  W.  Cruikshank,  of  the    High 

School,  Edinburgh     . 

SONGS. 

The  Lass  o'  Ballochmyle 

Song  of  Death 

My  ain  kind  Dearie  O 

Auld  Rob  Morris 

Naebody 

My  Wife's  a  winsome  wee  Thing    .    .    . 

Duncan  Gray : 

O  Poortith 

Galla  Water 

Lord  Gregory 

Open  the  Door  to  Me,  oh  !    .    .    .    .    . 

Meg  o'  the  Mill 

■•Jessie      .  .......... 

Wandering  Willie     . 

Logan  Braes 

There  was  a  Lass . 

Phillis  the  Fair . 

By  Allan  Stream 

Had  I  a  Cave 

Whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  Lad    . 

Husband,  Husband,  cease  your  Strife     . 

Deluded  Swain /    .    . 

Song 

Wilt  thou  be  my  Dearie  ? 

Banks  of  Cree 

On  the  Seas  and  far  away 

Hark  !  the  Mavis 

She  says  she  lo'es  me  best  of  a*  .    .    .    . 

How  lang  and  dreary 

The  Lover's  Morning  Salute  to  his  Mistress 

Lassie  wi'  the  lint-white  Locks  ;    .    .    . 

The  Auld  Man 

Farewell,  thou  Stream 

Contented  wi'  little   ......    -.    . 

My  Nannie's  awa' 

*»Sweet  fa's  the  Eve 

0  Lassie,  art  thou  sleeping  yet  ?     .    .    . 

Song  .    .    .    .    

'Twas  na  her  bonie  blue  Ee    .    .    .    .    . 

Address  to  the  Woodlark 

How  cruel  are  the  Parents.    ..... 

Mark  yonder  Pomp  ........ 

1  see  a  Form,  I  see  a  Face 

O  bonie  was  yon  rosy  Brier    ...... 

Forlorn,  my  Love 

Last  May  a  braw  Wooer 

Hey  for  a  Lass  wi'  a  Tocher  .    .    .     .    . 
Altho'  thou  maun  never  be  mine'.    .     .     . 

The  Birksof  Aberfeldy 

The  young  Highland  Rover 

Stay,  my  Charmer 

Full  well  thou  know'st 

Strathallan's  Lament     .-..*.. 


Page 

ib. 
ib. 

ib. 
ib. 

7/ 

ib. 
ib. 


t 
'8 

180 
ib. 
ib. 
ib. 
181 
ib. 
ib. 
183 
ib. 

« 
'If 

ib. 

186. 
ib. 
ib. 
ib. 

lb. 
ib. 

188 
ib. 
ib. 


lb. 
ib. 
190. 


ib. 

ib. 
ib.- 


ib. 

ib. 

ib: 

ib. 

194 

x?5 

ib. 
tb. 
tb. 


Iviii 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

Raving  Winds  around  her  blowing ...  197 

Musing  on  the  roaring  Ocean     ....  ib. 

Blithe  was  she 198 

-""'Peggy's  Charms il>. 

The  lazy  Mist ib. 

A  Rose-bud  by  my  early  Walk  ....  199 

Tibbie,  I  hae  seen  the  Day     v     .     .    .     .  ib. 

<**»-I  love  my  Jean     .........  ib. 

O,  were  I  on  Parnassus'  Hill'' 200 

The  blissful  Day ib. 

The  Braes  o'  Ballochmyle ib. 

The  happy  Trio    .  ^ ib. 

The  blue-eyed  Lassie 201 

John  Anderson  my  Jo ib. 

Tarn  Glen .  ib. 

Gane  is  the  Day ib. 

My  Tocher's  the  Jewel. 202 

What  can  a  young  Lassie  do  wi'  an  Old 

Man? ib. 

O,  for  ane  and  twenty,  Tam ! 203 

The  bonie  wee  Thing ib. 

The  Banks  of  Nith ib. 

Bessy  and  her  Spinnin  Wheel     ....  ib. 

Country  Lassie .  204 

Fair  Eliza ib. 

She's  fair  and  fause ib. 

The  Posie 205 

The  Banks  o'  Doon 206 

Version  printed  in  the  Musical  Museum  .  ib. 

Gloomy  December ib. 

Behold  the  Hour  .    .    .' 207 

Willie's  Wife ib. 

'"-"Rfton  Water ib. 

Louis,  what  reck  I  by  thee  ? 208 

Bonie  Bell ib. 

For  the  sake  of  Somebody ib. 

0  May,  thy  Morn ib. 

The  lovely  Lass'of  Inverness  .....  ib. 

-—A  red,  red  Rose 209 

O,  wat  ye  wha's  in  yon  Town  ?   .    .    .    .  ib. 

A  Vision ib. 

— O,  wert  thou  in  the  cauld  blast   ....  210 

The  Highland  Lassie     ........  ib. 

Jockey's  ta'en  the  parting  Kiss  .  :  .   ..    .  ib. 

—-Peggy's  Charms ,     .     .    .     .211 

Up  in  the  Morning  early   .    *    .    .    .    .  -  ib. 

Tho'  cruel  Fate    .........  ib. 

1  dream'd  I    lay   where  Flowers  were 
springing ib. 

Bonie  Ann ib. 

My  bonie  Mary 212 

—■My  Heart's  in  the  Highlands.     ......  ib. 

There's  a  Youth  in  this  City   .....  ib. 

The  rantin  Dog  the  Daddie  o't    ....  213 

I  do  confess  thtfu  art  sae  fair ib. 

Yon  wild  mossy  Mountains ib. 

Wha  is  that  at  my  Bower  Door?     .    .     .  214 

J*»  Farewell  to  Nancy ib. 

The  bonie  Blink  o'  Mary's  Ee    .    .     .     .  ib. 

Out  over  the  Forth    .    - ib. 

The  bonie  Lad  that's  far  away    .     .     ;    .  ib. 

The  gowden  Locks  of  Anna 215 

.Banks  of  Devon ib. 

Adown  winding  Nith 216 

Streams  that  glide ib. 

The  De'il's  awa'  wi'  the  Exciseman.    .    .  ib> 


Blithe  hae  I  been  on  yon  Hill     .... 

O  were  my  Love  yon  Lilac  fair  .... 

Come,  let  me  take  thee 

Where  are  the  Joys . 

O  saw  ye  my  Dear . 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie    .    .    .•    . 

My  Chloris 

Charming  Month  ofMay 

Let  not  Woman  e'er  complain     .... 

O  Philly ' 

John  Barleycorn 

Canst  thou  leave  me  thus  ?     ....'. 

On  Chloris  being  ill . 

When  Guilford  good  our  Pilot  stood    .    . 

The  Rigs  o'  Barley -. 

Farewell  to  Eliza . 

My  Nanie,  O . 

Green  grow  the  Rashes 

Now  westlin  Winds *  .    . 

The  big-bellied  Bottle 

The  Author's  Farewell  to  his  native 
Country     ..*..• 

The  Farewell  .' 

And  maun  I  still  on  Menie  doat .    .    .    .. 

■•Highland  Mary 

— Auld  Lang  Syne  .  • 

Bannockburn    ..    .    .    .    .    ..    .    . 

The  gallant. Weaver .    '. • 

Song  .....  V  

•^For  a' that  and  a*  that  .- 

Dainty  Davie 

To  Mr.  Cunningham     ....... 

Clarindaf 

Why,  why  tell  thy  Lover 

Caledonia 

On  the  Battle  of  Sheriff-Muir     .... 

The  Dumfries  Volunteers .. 

O  wha  is  she  that  lo'es  me?    ....    . 

Captain  Grose 

Whistle  owre  the  Lave  o't 

O,  once  I  lov'd  a  bonie  Lass  ..... 

Young  Jockey 

M'Pherson's  Farewell 

The  Dean  of  Faculty 

I'll  ay  ca'  in  by  yon  Town 

A  Bottle  and  a  Friend 

I'll  kiss  thee  yet   .    .    .• 

On  Cessnock  Banks 

Prayer  for  Mary 

Young  Peggy 

There'll  never  be  Peace  till  Jamie  comes 
hame 

There  was  a  Lad 

To  Mary     .     *   .     .    . 

Mary  Morison '   .    .    . 

The  Soger's  Return 

My  Father  was  a  Farmer 

A  Mother's  Lament  for  the  Death  of  her 
Son ...... 

Bonie  Lesley »    • 

Amang  the  Trees 

When  first  I  came  to  Stewart  Kyle     .    . 

On  Sensibility 

Montgomerie's  Peggy • 

On  a  Bank  of  Flowers 

O  raging  Fortune's  withering  Blast     .  •  . 


Page 

ib. 
ib. 
ib. 
218 
ib. 
ib. 

It. 

ib. 


221 

4 

ib. 
222 

ib. 
223 

ib, 

ib. 
224 

11 

ib. 
226 

ib. 
227 

ib. 

ib. 

ib. 
228 

ib. 
229 

ib. 

ib. 

230 
231 

ib. 
232 

ib. 

ib. 

lb. 
ib. 

234 
ib. 
ib. 
ib. 

11 
t 

ib. 

ib. 
238 

3f 

ib. 
ib. 
ib. 
24a 
ib. 
ib. 


CONTENTS. 


Hx 


Page 

Evan  Banks 240 

Women's  Minds 241 

<«*ro  Mary  in  Heaven ib. 

To  Mary 242. 

O  leave  Novels ib. 

Address  to  General  Dumourier  ....  ib. 

Sweetest  May ib. 

One  Night  as  I  did  wander ib. 

The  Winter  it  is  past 243 

Fragment ib. 

The  Chevalier's  Lament     ......  ib. 

The  Belles  of  Mauchline    .......  ib. 

The  Tarbolton  Lasses   ........  244 

The  Tarbolton  Lasses ib. 

Here's  a  Health  to  them  that's  awa     .    .  245 

I'm  owre  young  to  marry  yet 246 

Damon  and  Sylvia    ........  ib. 

My  Lady's  Gown  there's  Gairs  upon'*      .  ib. 

O-ay  my  Wife  she  dang  me  ....     .  247 

The  Banks  of  Nith  ........  ib. 

Bonie  Peg 1     .    .    .  ib. 

O  lay  thy  Loof  in  mine,  Lass      ....  ib. 

O  guid  Ale  comes i«   «  ib. 

O  why  the  Deuce ib. 

Polly  Stewart *    .    .'    .  248 

Robin  shure  in  hairst     ........  ib. 

The  five  Carlins    .    .'    .  * ib. 

The  Deuk's  dang  o'er  my  Daddie  .     .     .  249 

The  Lass  that  made  the  Bed  to  me.     .     .  ib. 

The  Union  .    .  ^ >  250 

There  was  a  bonie  Lass ib. 

My  Harry  was  a  Gallant  gay     ....  251 

Tibbie  Dunbar ib. 

Wee  Willie ib. 

Craigie-burn-wood    ........  ib. 

Here's  his  Health  in  Water 252 

As  down  the  Burn  they,  took  their  Way  .  ib. 

Lady  Onlie .    , ib. 

As  I  was  a  wandering ib. 

Bannocks  o'  Barley 253 

Our  Thrissles  flourished  fresh  and  fair     .  ib. 

Peg-a- Ramsey ib. 

Come  boat  me  o'er  to  Charlie      ....  ib. 

Braw  Lads  of  Galla  Water 254 

—Coming  through  the  Rye ib. 

The  Lass  of  Ecclefechan   ......  ib. 

The  Slave's  Lament 255 

Had  I  the  Wyte ib. 

Hee  Baiou ib. 

Her  Daddie  forbad ib. 

Here's  to  thy  Health,  my  bonie  Lass  .     .  256 

Hey,  the  dusty  Miller ib. 

The  Cardin'  o't ib. 

The  joyful  Widower ib. 

Theniel  Menzie's  bonie  Mary     ....  257 

The  Farewell ib. 

It  is  na,  Jean,  thy  bonie  Face    ....  ib. 

Jamie,  come  try  me .  258 

Landlady,  count  the  Lawin ib. 


Pago 

My  Love  she's  tut  a  Lassie  yet ....  258 

My  Heart  was  ance ib. 

Lovely  Davies      ..'.......  259 

Kenmure's  on  and  awa .......  it/. 

The  Captain's  Lady  . r& 

Lady  Mary  Ann 26o> 

The  Highland  Widow's  Lament      .•    .    .  ib. 

Merry  hae  I  been  teethin'  a  Heckle    .     .  ib\ 

Rattlin',  roarin'  Willie 261 

O  Mally's  meek,  Mally's  sweet  ......  ib, 

Sae  far  awa -262 

O  steer  her  up  ;* ib. 

O,  whar-did  ye  get ib. 

The  Fete  Champetre ib. 

Simmer's  a  pleasant  Time 263 

The  blude  red  Rose  at  Yule  may  blaw     .  ib. 

The  Highland  Laddie   .......  264 

The  Cooper  o'  Cuddie   ..*,...  ib.. 

Nithsdale's  welcome  Hame 265 

The  Tailor   ...........  ib. 

The  tither  Morn ib. 

The  Carle  of  Kellyburn  Braes   ....  266 

There  was  a  Lass 1    .  267 

The  weary  Pund  o*  Tow 268 

The  Ploughman    ....,..»•  ib. 

The  Carles  of  Dysart    .    .     .    \    .    .    .  ib. 

Weary  fa'  you,  Duncan  Gray     ....  269 

My  Hoggie ib. 

Where  hae  ye  been  ........  ib* 

Cock  up  your  Beaver ib. 

The  Heron  Ballads.     First  Ballad  .    .     .  ib. 

The  Election.     Second  Ballad   ....  270 

An  excellent  new  Song.    Third  Ballad    .  271 

John  Bushby's  Lamentation 272 

Ye  Sons. of  Old  Killie    .......  273 

Ye  Jacobites  by  name    .......  tb. 

Song — Ah,  Chloris    ........  274 

Whan  I  sleep  I  dream   r    .....    .  ib. 

Katharine  Jaffray ib. 

The  Collier  Laddie ib. 

When  I  think  on  the  happy  Days   .     .    .  ib. 

Young  Jamie,  pride  of  a'  the  plain  .    .    .  275 

The  Heather  was  blooming    .....  ib. 

Wae  is  my  Heart ib. 

EppieM'Nab  .  ^ 276 

An,  O  !  my  Eppie ib. 

Gudeen  to  you,  Kimmer    ..;...  ib. 

O  that  I  had  ne'er  been  married ....  277 

There's  News,  Lasses   .......  tb. 

Scroggam ib. 

Frae  the  Friends  and  Land  I  love  .    .  t .  ib. 

The  Laddies  by  the  Banks  o'  Nith      ♦  '.  ib. 

The  bonie  Lass  of  Albany      .....  278 

Song   .    .    .    4 ib. 

Appendix  :— 

Elegy  .    .    . 280 

Extempore.     To  Mr.  Gavin  Hamilton  ib. 

Versicles  on  Sign-posts s8x 


( 

1 


POEMS. 

THE    TWA    DOGS. 

A   TALE 

'Twas  in  that  place  o'  Scotland's  isle, 
That  bears  the  name  o'  Auld  King  Coil, 
Upon  a  bonie  day  in  June, 
When  wearing  thro'  the  afternoon, 
Twa  dogs,  that  were  na  thrang  at  hame, 
Forgather'd  ance  upon  a  time. 

The  first  I'll  name,  they  ca'd  him  Caesar, 
Was  keepit  for  his  Honour's  pleasure  : 
His  hair,  his  size,  his  mouth,  his  lugs, 
Shew'd  he  was  nane  o*  Scotland's  dogs ; 
But  whalpit  some  place  far  abroad, 
Whare  sailors  gang  to  fish  for  Cod. 

His  locked,  Tetter' d,  braw  brass  collar, 
Shew'd  him  the  gentleman  and  scholar; 
But  tho'  he  was  o'  high  degree, 
The  fient  a  pride — nae  pride  had  he  ; 
But  wad  hae  spent  an  hour  caressin, 
Ev'n  wi'  a  tinkler-gipsey's  messin. 
At  kirk  or  market,  mill  of  smiddie, 
Nae  tawted  tyke,  tho'  e'er  sae  duddie, 
But  he  wad  stan't,  as  glad  to  see  him, 
An*  stroan't  on  stanes  and  hillocks  wi'  him. 

The  tither  was  a  ploughman's  collie, 
A  rhyming,  ranting,  raving  billie, 
Wha  for  his  friend  and  comrade  had  him, 
An'  in  his  freaks  had  Luath  ca'd  him, 
After  some  dog  in  Highland  sang, 
Was  made  lang  syne, — Lord  knows  how  lang. 

He  was  a  gash  an'  faithfu'  tyke, 
As  ever  lap  a  sheugh  or  dike. 
His  honest,  sonsie,  baws'nt  face, 
Ay  gat  him  friends  in  ilka  place ; 
His  breast  was  white,  his  touzie  back 
Weel  clad  wi'  coat  o'  glossy  black  ; 
His  gawcie  tail,  wi*  upwar*d  curl, 
Hung  owre  his  hurdies  wi'  a  swirl. 


THE  TWA  DOGS, 


Nae  doubt  but  they  were  fain  q'  ither, 
An'  unco  pack  an'  thick  thegither ; 
Wi*  social  nose  whyles  snufird  and  snowkit ; 
Whyles  mice  and  moudieworts  they  howkit ; 
Whyles  scour'd  awa  in  lang  excursion, 
An*  worry'd  ither  in  diversion ; 
Until  wi'  daffin  weary  grown, 
Upon  a  knowe  they  sat  them  down, 
An*  there  began  a  lang  digression 
About  the  lords  o'  the  creation. 

C/ESAR. 

I've  aften  wonder' d,  honest  Luath, 
What  sort  o'  life  poor  dogs  like  you  have ; 
An'  when  the  gentry's  life  I  saw, 
What  way  poor  bodies  liv'd  ava. 

Our  Laird  gets  in  his  racked  rents, 
His  coals,  his  kain,  an'  a'  his  stents : 
He  rises  when  he  likes  himsel ; 
His  flunkies  answer  at  the  bell ; 
He  ca's  his  coach  ;  he  ca's  his  horse ; 
He  draws  a  bonie,  silken  purse 
As  tang's  my  tail,  whare  thro'  the  steeks, 
The  yellow  letter' d  Geordie  keeks. 

Frae  morn  to  e'en,  it's  nought  but  toiling, 
At  baking,  roasting,  frying,  boiling ; 
An*  tho'  the  gentry  first  are  stechin, 
Yet  ev'n  the  ha'  folk  rill  their  pechan, 
Wi'  sauce,  ragouts,  and  such  like  trashtrie, 
That's  little  short  o'  downright  wastrie. 
Our  Whipper-in,  wee  blastit  wonner, 
Poor  worthless  elf,  it  eats  a  dinner, 
Better  than  ony  tenant  man 
His  Honour  has  in  a'  the  Ian  : 
An*  what  poor  cot-folk  pit  their  painch  in, 
I  own  it's  past  my  comprehension. 

LUATH. 

Trowth,  Caesar,  whyles  they're  fash't  eneugh  : 
A  cotter  howkin  in  a  sheugh, 
Wi'  dirty  stanes  biggin  a  dyke, 
Baring  a  quarry,  and  siclike, 
Himsel,  a  wife,  he  thus  sustains, 
A  smytrie  o'  wee  duddie  weans, 
An'  nought  but  his  han'  darg,  to  keep 
Them  right  an'  tight  in  thack  an'  rape. 

An'  when  they  meet  wi'  sair  disasters, 
Like  loss  o'  health,  or  want  o'  masters, 
Ye  maist  wad  think,  a  wee  touch  langer, 
An'  they  maun  starve  o'  cauld  and  hunger ; 


THE  TWA  DOGS. 


But,  how  it  comes,  I  never  kend  yet, 
They're  maistly  wonderfu'  contented ; 
An'  buirdly  chiels,  an'  clever  hizzies, 
Are  bred  in  sic  a  way  as  this  is. 

C;£SAR. 

But  then  to  see  how  ye' re  negleckit, 
How  huff 'd,  an'  cuff 'd,  an'  disrespeckit ! 
Lord,  man,  our  gentry  care  as  little 
For  delvers,  ditchers,  an'  sic  cattle, 
They  gang  as  saucy  by  poor  folk, 
As  I  wad  by  a  stinking  brock. 

I've  notic'd,  on  our  Laird's  court-day, 
An'  mony  a  time  my  heart's  been  wae, 
Poor  tenant  bodies,  scant  o'  cash, 
How  they  maun  thole  a  factor's  snash : 
He'll  stamp  an'  threaten,  curse  an'  swear. 
He'll  apprehend  them,  poind  their  gear ; 
"While  they  maun  stan',  wi'  aspect  humble, 
An'  hear  it  a',  an'  fear  an'  tremble ! 

I  see  how  folk  live  that  hae  riches  ; 
But  surely  poor  folk  maun  be  wretches. 

LUATH. 

They're  no  sae  wretched's  ane  wad  think 
Tho'  constantly  on  poortith's  brink  : 
They're  sae  accustom'd  wi'  the  sight, 
The  view  o't  gies  them  little  fright. 

Then  chance  an'  fortune  are  sae  guided, 
They're  ay  in  less  or  mair  provided  ; 
An*  tho'  fatigu'd  wi'  close  employment, 
A  blink  o'  rest's  a  sweet  enjoyment. 

The  dearest  comfort  o'  their  lives, 
Their  grushie  weans  an*  faithfu'  wives  : 
The  prattling  things  are  just  their  pride, 
That  sweetens  a'  their  fire-side. 

An'  whyles  twalpennie  worth  o*  nappy 
Can  mak  the  bodies  unco  happy ; 
They  lay  aside  their  private  cares, 
To  mind  the  Kirk  and  State  affairs  ; 
They'll  talk  o'  patronage  an'  priests, 
"Wi'  kindling  fury  i'  their  breasts, 
Or  tell  what  new  taxation's  comin, 
An'  ferlie  at  the  folk  in  Lon'on. 

As  bleak-fac'd  Hallowmass  returns, 
They  get  the  jovial,  ranting  kirns, 
When  rural  life,  o'  ev'ry  station, 
Unite  in  common  recreation  ; 
Love  blinks,  Wit  slaps,  an'  social  Mirth 
Forgets  there's  Care  upo'  the  earth. 


THE  TWA  DOGS. 


That  merry  day  the  year  begins, 
They  bar  the  door  on  frosty  winds; 
The  nappy  reeks  wi'  mantling  ream, 
An'  sheds  a  heart-inspiring  steam ; 
The  luntin  pipe,  an'  sneesliin  mill, 
Are  handed  round  wi*  right  guid  will ; 
The  cantie  auld  folks  crackin  crouse, 
The  young  anes  ranting  thro'  the  house,— 
My  heart  nas  been  sae  fain  to  see  them, 
That  I  for  joy  hae  barket  wi'  them. 

Still  its  owre  true  that  ye  hae  said, 
Sic  game  is  now  owre  aften  play'd. 
There's  monie  a  creditable  stock 
O'  decent,  honest,  fawsont  folk, 
Are  riven  out  baith  root  an'  branch, 
Some  rascal's  pridefu'  greed  to  quench, 
Wha  thinks  to  knit  himsel  the  faster 
In  favour  wi*  some  gentle  Master, 
Wha,  aiblins,  thrang  a  parliamentin, 
For  Britain's  guid  his  saul  indentin— 

OESARi 

Haith,  lad,  ye  little  ken  about  it ; 
For  Britain's  guid  !  guid  faith  !  I  doubt  it 
Say  rather,  gaun  as  Premiers  lead  him, 
An'  saying  aye  or  nds  they  bid  him  : 
At  operas  an'  plays  parading, 
Mortgaging,  gambling,  masquerading: 
Or  maybe,  in  a  frolic  daft, 
To  Hague  or  Calais  taks  a  waft, 
To  make  a  tour,  an'  tak  a  whirl, 
To  learn  ton  ton  an'  see  the  worl'. 

There,  at  Vienna  or  Versailles, 
He  rives  his  father's  auld  entails ; 
Or  by  Madrid  he  taks  the  rout, 
To  thrum  guitars,  an'  fecht  wi'  nowt ; 
Or  down  Italian  vista  startles, 
Whore-hunting  amang  groves  o'  myrtles  : 
Then  bouses  drumly  German  water, 
To  mak  himsel  look  fair  and  fatter, 
An*  clear  the  consequential  sorrows, 
Love-gifts  of  Carnival  Signoras. 
For  Britain's  guid  {  for  her  destruction ! 
Wi*  dissipation,  feud,  an'  faction ! 

LUATH. 

Hech,  man  !  dear  sirs !  is  that  the  gate 
They  waste  sae  mony  a  braw  estate  ? 
Are  we  sae  foughten  an'  harass'd 
For  gear  to  gang  that  gate  at  last  ? 


THE  TWA  DOGS. 


O  would  they  stay  aback  frae  courts, 
An*  please  themsels  wi'  countra  sports, 
It  wad  for  ev'ry  ane  be  better, 
The  Laird,  the  Tenant,  an*  the  Cotter  I 
For  thae  frank,  rantin,  ramblin  billies, 
Fient  haet  o'  them's  ill-hearted  fellows  ; 
Except  for  breaking  o'  their  timmer,  & 

Qx  speaking  lightly  o'  their  limmer, 
Or  shootin  o'  a  hare  or  moor-cock, 
The  ne'er-a-bit  they're  ill  to  poor  folk. 

But  will  ye  tell  me,  Master  Caesar, 
Sure  great  folk's  life's  a  life  o'  pleasure  ? 
Nae  cauld  nor  hunger  e'er  can  steer  them, 
The  vera  thought  o't  need  na  fear  them. 

CAESAR. 

Lord,  man,  were  ye  but  whyles  whare  I  am, 
The  gentles  ye  wad  ne'er  envy  'em.  : 

It's  true,  they  need  na  starve  or  sweat, 
Thro'  winter's  cauld,  or  simmer's  heat ; 
They've  nae  sair  wark  to  craze  their  banes, 
An'  fill  auld  age  wi'  grips  an'  granes : 
But  human  bodies  are  sic  fools, 
For  a'  their  colleges  and  schools, 
That  when  nae  real  ills  perplex  them, 
They  mak  enow  themsels  to  vex  them ; 
An'  ay  the  less  they  hae  to  sturt  them, 
In  like  proportion,  less  will  hurt  them. 

A  country  fellow  at  the  pleugh, 
His  acre's  till'd,  he's  right  eneugh ; 
A  country  rirl  at  her  wheel, 
Her  dizzeos  done,  she's  unco  weel : 
But  Gentlemen,  an'  Ladies  warst, 
Wi'  e^n  down  want  o'  wark  are  curst. 
They  loiter,  lounging,  lank,  an'  lazy ; 
Tho'  deil  haet  ails  them,  yet  uneasy  : 
Their  days  insipid,  dull,  an'  tasteless ; 
Their  nights  unquiet,  lang,  an'  restless ; 

An'  ev'n  their  sports,  their  balls  an*  races, 
Their  galloping  thro'  public  places, 
There's  sic  parade,  sic  pomp,  an'  art, 
The  joy  can  scarcely  reach  the  heart. 

The  men  cast  out  in  party-matches, 
Then  sowther  a'  in  deep  debauches. 
Ae  night,  they're  mad  wi'  drink  an'  whoring, 
Niest  day  their  life  is  past  enduring. 
The  Ladies  arm-in-arm  in  clusters. 
As  great  an*  gracious  a'  as  sisters ; 
But  heat  their  absent  thoughts  o'  ither, 
They're  £*  run  deils  an'  jads  thegither. 


SCOTCH  DRIbTK. 


Whyles,  owre  the  wee  bit  cup  an'  platie, 
They  sip  the  scandal  potion  pretty  ; 
Or  lee-lang  nights,  wr  crabbit  leaks, 
Pore  ower  the  devil's  pictur'd.  beuks ; 
Stake  on  a  chance  a  farmer's  stackyard, 
An*  cheat  like  ony  unhang'd  blackguard. 

There's  some  exceptions,  man  an'  woman  ; 
But  this  is  Gentry's  life  in  common. 

By  this,  the  sun  was  out  d*  sight, 
An'  darker  gloamin  brought  the  night : 
The  bum-clock  humm'd  wi'  lazy  drone, 
The  kye  stood  row  tin  i*  the  loan  ; 
When  up  they  gat,  an'  shook  their  lugs, 
Rejoic'd  they  were  na  nun  but  dogs  ; 
An'  each  took  aff  his  several  way, 
Resolv'd  to  meet  some  ither  day. 


SCOTCH  DRINK. 

Cie  him  strong  drink,  until  he  nvink% 

That's  sinking  in  despair; 
/in*  liquor  guid  to  fire  his  bluid> 

That's  prest  wi  grief  an'  care; 
There  let  him  bouse,  art  deep  carouse, 

WV  bumpers  flowing  o'er, 
Till  he  forgets  his  loves  or  debts,. 

An'  minds  his  griefs  no  more. 

Solomon's  Proverbs,  xxxi,  6,  7, 

Let  other  Poets  raise  a  fracas 

'Bout  vines,  an'  wines,  an*  drunken  Bacchus, 

An'  crabbit  names  an'  stories  wrack  us, 

An*  grate  our  lug, 
I  sing  the  juice  Scotch  bear  can  mak  us, 

In  glass  or  jug. 


O  thou,  my  Muse !  guid  auld  Scotch  Drink, 
Whether  thro'  wimplin  worms  thou  jink, 
Or,  richly  brown,  ream  owre  the  brink, 

In  glorious  faem, 
Inspire  me,  till  I  lisp  an'  wink, 

To  sing  thy  name  ! 

Let  husky  Wheat  the  haughs  adorn, 
An'  Aits  set  up  their  awnie  horn, 
An'  Pease  an'  Beans  at  een  or  morn, 

Perfume  the  plain, 
Leeze  me  on  thee,  John  Barleycorn, 

Thou  King  o*  grain  ! 


SCOTCH  DRINK. 


On  thee  aft  Scotland  chows  her  cood, 
In  souple  scones,  the  wale  o'  food  ! 
Or  tumbljn  in  the  boiling  flood 

Wi'  kail  an'  beef ; 
But  when  thou  pours  thy  strong  heart's  blood, 

There  thou  shines  Chief. 

Food  fills  the  wame,  an'  keeps  us  livin  ; 
Tho'  life's  a  gift  no  worth  receivin, 
When  heavy-dragg'd  wi'  pine  an'  grievin  ; 

But  oil'd  by  thee, 
The  wheels  o'  life  gae  down-hill,  scrievin, 

Wi*  rattlin  glee. 


Thou  clears  the  head  o'  doited  Lear  : 
Thou  cheers  the  heart  o'  drooping  Care ; 
Thou  strings  the  nerves  o'  Labour  sair, 

At 's  weary  toil : 
Thou  even  brightens  dark  Despair 

Wi'  gloomy  smile. 


Aft,  clad  in  massy,  siller  weed, 
Wi'  Gentles  thou  erects  thy  head  ; 
Yet  humbly  kind,  in  time  o*  need, 

The  poor  man's  wine", 
His  wee  drap  parritch,  or  his  bread, 

Thou  kitchens  fine. 


Thou  art  the  life  o'  public  haunts ; 

But  thee,  what  were  our  fairs  and  rants  ? 

Ev'n  godly  meetings  o'  the  saunts, 

By  thee  inspir'd, 
When  gaping  they  besiege  the  tents, 

Are  doubly  fir'd. 

That  merry  night  we  get  the  corn  in  i 
O  sweetly,  then,  thou  reams  the  horn  in  I 
Or  reekin  on  a  New-Year  mornin 

In  cog  or  bicker, 
An*  just  a  wee  drap  sp'rijtual  burn  in, 

An'  gusty  sucker ! 

When  Vulcan  gies  his  bellows  breath, 
An'  ploughmen  gather  wi'  their  graith, 
O  rare  !  to  see  thee  fizz  an'.freath 

1'  th'  lugget  caup  ! 
Then  Burnewin  comes  on  like  Death 

At  ev'ry  chauu. 


SCOTCH  DRINK. 


Nae  mercy,  then,  for  aim  or  steel ; 
The  brawnie,  banie,  ploughman  chiel, 
Brings  hard  owrehip,  wi'  sturdy  wheel, 

The  strong  forehammer, 
Till  block  an'  studdie  ring  an'  reel 

Wi'  dinsome  clamour. 


When  skirlin  weanies  see  the  light, 
Thou  maks  the  gossips  clatter  bright, 
How  fumblin'  cuifs  their  dearies  slight, 

Wae  worth  the  name  \ 
Nae  Howdie  gets  a  social  night, 

Or  plack  frae  them, 

When  neebors  anger  at  a  plea, 
An*  just  as  wud  as  wud  can  be, 
How  easy  can  the  barley-bree 

Cement  the  quarrel ! 
It's  aye  the  cheapest  Lawyer's  fee, 

To  taste  the  barrel. 

A  lake  !  that  e'er  my  Muse  has  reason 
To  wyte  her  countrymen  wi'  treason ! 
But  monie  daily  weet  their  weason 

Wi'  liquors  nice, 
An'  hardly,  in  a  winter's  season, 

E'er  spier  her  price. 

Wae  worth  that  brandy,  burning  trash  ! 
Fell  source  o'  monie  a  pain  an'  brash ! 
Twins  monie  a  poor,  doylt,  druken  hash, 

O'  half  his  days  ; 
An'  sends,  beside,  auld  Scotland's  cash 

To  her  warst  faes. 


Ye  Scots,  wha  wish  auld  Scotland  well, 
Ye  chief,  to  you  my  tale  I  tell, 
Poor  plackless  devils  like  mysel* 

It  sets  you  ill, 
Wi'  bitter,  dearthfu*  wines  to  mell, 

Or  foreign  gill. 

May  gravels  round  his  blather  wrench. 
An'  gouts  torment  him,  inch  by  inch, 
Wha  twists  his  gruntle  wi'  a  glunch 

O'  sour  disdain, 
Out*owre  a  glass  o'  Whisky  punch 

Wi'  honest  men  J 


THE  AUTHOR'S  EARNEST  CRY  AND  PRAYER. 

O  Whisky  !  soul  o'  plays  an'  pranks ! 
Accept  a  Bardie's  gratefu'  thanks  ! 
When  wanting  thee,  what  tuneless  cranks 

Are  my  poor  verses  ! 
Thou  comes they  rattle  i'  their  ranks 

At  ither's  a — s ! 


Thee,  Ferintosh  !  O  sadly  lost ! 
Scotland,  lament  frae  coast  to  coast  \ 
Now  colic-gri]5s,  an'  barkin  hoast, 

May  kill  us  a' ; 
For  loyal  Forbes7  charter'd  boast 

Is  ta'en  awa ! 


Thae  curst  horse-leeches  o'  th'  Excise, 
Wha  mak  the  Whisky  Stells  their  prize  ! 
Haud  up  thy  han,'  Deil !  ance,  twice,  thrice ! 

There,  seize  the  blinkers ! 
Ah'  bake  them  up  in  brunstane  pies 

For  poor  damn'd  drinkers. 

Fortune!  K  thou '11  but  gie  me  still 
Hale  breeks,  a  scone,  an'  Whisky  gill, 
An'  rowth  o'  rhyme  to  rave  at  will, 

Tak'  a'  the  rest, 
An'  deal't  about  as  thy  blind  skill 

Directs  thee  best. 


THE  AUTHOR'S  EARNEST  CRY  AND  PRAYER. 

TO  THE  RJGHT  HONOURABLE  AND  HONOURABLE  THE  SCOTCH  REPRESENTATIVES  IN  THS 

HOUSE  OF  COMMONS. 

Dearest  of  Distillation  /  last  and  best— 

-—How  art  thou  lost ! 

Parody  on  Milton. 

Ye  Irish  Lords,  ye  Knights  an'  Squires, 
Wha  represent  our  brughs  an'  shires, 
An'  doucely  manage  our  affairs 

In  Parliament, 
To  you  a  simple  Bardie's  prayers 

Are  humbly  sent. 

Alas  !  my  roupet  Muse  is  hearse  ; 

Your  Honours'  heart  wi'  grief  'twad  pierce, 

To  see  her  sitten  on  her  a — 

Low  i'  the  dust, 
An'  scriechin  out  prosaic  verse, 

An'  like  to  brust  J 


10  THE  A  UTHOR  'S  EARNEST 

Tell  them  wha  hae  the  chief  direction, 
Scotland  an'  me's  in  great  affliction, 
E'er  sin'  they  laid  that  curst  restriction 

On  Aquavitae ; 
An*  rouse  them  up  to  strong  conviction, 

An*  move  their  pity. 

Stand  forth,  an*  tell  yon  Premier  Youth, 

The  honest,  open,  naked  truth  : 

Tell  him  o'  mine  an*  Scotland's  drouth, 

His  servants  humble : 
The  muckle  devil  blaw  ye  south, 

If  ye  dissemble ! 

Does  ony  great  man  glunch  an*  gloom  ? 
Speak  out,  an*  never  fash  your  thumb  ! 
Let  posts  an'  pensions  sink  or  soom 

Wi'  them  wha  grant  'em 
If  honestly  they  canna  come, 

Far  better  want  'em. 

In  gath'rin  votes  you  were  na  slack  ; 
Now  stand  as  tightly  by  your  tack  ; 
Ne'er  claw  your  lug,  an'  fidge  your  back, 

An'  hum  ah'  haw ; 
But  raise  your  arm,  an'  tell  your  crack 

Before  them  a'. 

Paint  Scotland  greetin  owre  her  thrissle  ; 
Her  mutchkin  stoup  as  toom's  a  whissle  : 
An'  damn'd  Excisemen  in  a  bussle, 

Seizin  a  Stell, 
Triumphant  crushin't  like  a  mussel 

Or  lampit  shell. 

Then  on  the  tither  hand  present  her, 

A  blackguard  Smuggler,  right  behint  her, 

An'  cheek-for-chow,  a  chuffie  Vintner, 

Colleaguing  join, 
Picking  her  pouch  as  bare  as  Winter 

Of  a'  kind  coin. 

Is  there,  that  bears  the  name  o'  Scot, 
But  feels  his  heart's  bluid  rising  hot, 
To  see  his  poor  auld  Mither's  pot 

Thus  dung  in  staves, 
An'  plunder'd  o'  her  hindmost  groat 

By  gallows  knaves  ? 

Alas  !  I'm  but  a  nameless  wight, 
Trode  i'  the  mire  out  o'  sight  1 


CR  Y  AND  PR  A  YER.  \\ 


But  could  I  like  Montgomeries  fight, 

Or  gab  like  Boswell, 

There's  some  sark-necks  I  wad  draw  tight, 
An*  tie  some  hose  well, 

God  bless  your  Honours,  can  ye  see't, 
The  kind,  auld,  cantie  Carlin  greet, 
An*  no  get  warmly  to  your  feet, 

An'  gar  them  hear  it? 
An7  tell  them,  wi*  a  patriot-heat, 

Ye  winna  bear  it ! 

Some  o7  you  nicely  ken  the  laws, 
To  round  the  period  an'  pause, 
An'  with  rhetoric  clause  on  clause 

To  mak  harangues  ; 
Then  echo  thro'  Saint  Stephen's  wa's 

Auld  Scotland's  wrangs. 

Dempster,  a  true  blue  Scot  I'se  warran  ; 
Thee,  aith-detesting,  chaste  Kilkerran ; 
An'  that  glib-gabbet  Highland  Baron, 

The  Laird  o'  Graham ; 
An*  ane,  a  chap  that's  damn'd  auldfarran, 

Dundas  his  name. 

Erskine,  a  spunkie  Norland  billie ; 
True  Campbells,  Frederick  an'  Hay  ; 
An'  Livingstone,  the  bauld  Sir  Willie  ; 

An'  monie  ithers, 
Whom  auld  Demosthenes  or  Tully 

Might  own  for  brithers. 

Arouse,  my  boys  !  exert  your  mettle, 
To  get  auld  Scotland  back  her  kettle  ; 
Or  faith  !  I'll  wad  my  new  pleugh-pettle, 

Ye'll  see't  or  lang, 
She'll  teach  you,  wi'  a  reekin  whittle, 

Anither  sang. 

This  while  she's  been  in  crankous  mood, 
Her  lost  Militia  flr'd  her  bluid  ; 
(Deil  na  they  never  mair  do  guid, 

Play'd  her  that  pliskie  !) 
An'  now  she's  like  to  rin  red-wud 

About  her  Whisky. 

An'  Lord,  if  ance  they  pit  her  till't, 
Her  tartan  petticoat  she'll  kilt, 
An'  durk  an'  pistol  at  her  belt, 

'She'll  tak  the  streets, 
An'  rin  her  whittle  to  the  hilt, 

J!  th'  first  she  meets ! 


12  THE  A  UTHOR *S  EARNEST 


For  God  sake,  Sirs !  then  speak  her  fair, 
An'  straik  her  cannie  wi*  the  hair, 
An*  to  the  mitckle  house  repair, 

Wi'  instant  speed, 
An*  strive,  wi'  a*  your  wit  and  lear, 

To  get  remead, 

Yon  ill  tongu'd  tinkler,  Charlie  Fox, 
May  taunt  you  wi'  his  jeers  an'  mocks ; 
But  gie  him't  het,  my  hearty  cocks  ! 

E'en  cowe  the  cadie  I 
An*  send  him  to  his  dicing-box 

An'  sportin  lady. 

Tell  yon  guid  bluid  o'  auld  Boconnock's 

I'll  be  his  debt  twa  mashlum  bonnocks, 

An'  drink  Kis  health  in  auld  Nanse  Tinnock's- 

Nine  times  a-week, 
If  he  some  scheme,  like  tea  art  winnocks, 

Wad  kindly  seek. 


Could  he  some  commutation  broach, 
I'll  pledge  my  aith  in  guid  braid  Scotch, 
He  need  na  fear  their  foul  reproach 

Nor  erudition, 
Yon  mixtie-maxtie  queer  hotch-potch, 

The  Coalition. 


Auld  Scotland  has  a  raucle  tongue ; 
She's  just  a  devil  wi'  a  rung ; 
An'  if  she  promise  auld  or  young 

To  tak  their  part, 
Tho'  by  the  neck  she  should  be  strung, 

She'll  no  desert. 

An'  now,  ye  chosen  Five-and-Forty, 
May  still  your  Mither's  heart  support  ye ; 
Then,  though  a  Minister  grow  dorty, 

An'  kick  your  place, 
Ye'll  snap  your  ringers,  poor  an'  hearty, 

Before  his  face. 

God  bless  your  Honours  a*  your  days, 
Wi'  sowps  o'  kail  an'  brats  o'  claise, 
In  spite  o'  a'  the  thievish  kaes 

That  haunt  St.  Jamie's. 
Your  humble  Bardie  sings  an'  prays 

While  Rab  Ijjs  name  is. 


CRY  AND  PRAYER.  13 


POSTSCRIPT. 

Let  half-starv'd  slaves,  in  warmer  skies. 
See  future  wines,  ricfi'-clust'ring,  rise ; 
Their  lot  auld  Scotland  ne'er  envies, 

But  blythe  an'  frisky, 
She  eyes  her  free  born,  martial  boys, 

Tak  aff  their  Whisky. 

What  tho'  their  Phoebus  kinder  warms, 
While  fragrance  blooms  an'  beauty  charms  \ 
When  wretches  range,  in  famish'd  swarms, 

The  scented  groves, 
Or  hounded  forth,  dishonour  arms 

In  hungry  droves. 

Their  gun's  a  burden  on  thefr  shouther; 
They  downa  bide  the  stink  o'  powther ; 
Their  bauldest  thought's  a  hank'ring  s wither 

To  stan'  or  rin, 
Till  skelp — a  shot — they're  aff,  a'  throwther, 

To  save  their  skin. 

But  bring  a  Scotsman  frae  his  hill, 
Clap  in  his  cheek  a  Highland  gill, 
Say,  such  is  royal  George's  will, 

An'  there's  the  foe, 
He  has  nae  thought  but  how  to  kill 

Twa  at  a  blow. 

Nae  cauld,  faint-hearted  doubtings  tease  him  I 
Death  comes,  wi'  fearless  eye  he  sees  him  ; 
Wi'  bluidy  han'  a  welcome  gies  him  ; 

An'  when  he  fa's, 
His  latest  draught  o'  breathin  lea'es  him 

In  faint  huzzas. 

Sages  their  solemn  een  may  steek, 
An'  raise  a  philosophic  reek, 
An'  physically  causes  seek, 

In  clime  an'  season  ; 
But  tell  me  Whisky's  name  in  Greek, 

I'll  tell  the  reason. 

Scotland,  my  auld,  respected  Mither ! 
Tho'  whyles  ye  moistify  your  leather, 
Till  whare  ye  sit,  on  craps  o'  heather, 

Ye  tine  your  dam ; 
Freedom  and  Whisky  gang  thegither  f 

Tak  aff  your  dram  ! 


14  THE  HOLY  FAIR. 


m 
THE    HOLY    FAIR. 

A  robe  of  seeming  truth  and  trust 

Hid  crafty  Observation  ; 
And  secret  hung,  with  poison' d  crusty 

The  dirk  of  Defamation: 
A  mask  that  like  the  gorget  show'd, 

Dye-varying  on  the  pigeon; 
And  for  a  mantle  large  and  broad \ 

He  wrapt  him  in  Religion. 

Hypocrisy  A-la-mode. 

Upon  a  simmer  Sunday  mom, 

When  Nature's  face  is  fair, 
I  walked  forth  to  view  the  corn, 

An*  snuff  the  caller  air. 
The  risin'  sun,  owre  Galston  muirs, 

WY  glorious  light  was  glintin ; 
The  hares  were  hirplin  down  the  furrs, 

The  lav'rocks  they  were  chantin 

Fu'  sweet  that  clay. 

As  lightsomely  I  glowr'd  abroad, 

To  see  a  scene  sae  gay, 
Three  Hizzies,  early  at  the  road, 

Cam  skelpin  up  the  way. 
Twa  had  manteeles  o'  dolefu'  black, 

But  ane  wi'  lyart  lining ; 
The  third,  that  gaed  a  wee  a-back, 

Was  in  the  fashion  shining 

Fu'  gay  that  day* 

The  twa  appeared  like  sisters  twin, 

In  feature,  form,  an*  claes ; 
Their  visage  wither'd,  lang  an*  thin, 

An'  sour  as  ony  slaes  : 
The  third  cam  up,  hap-step-an'-lowp, 

As  light  as  ony  lambie, 
An'  wi'  a  curchie  low  did  stoop, 

As  soon  as  e'er  she  saw  me, 

Fu'  kind  that  day. 

Wi'  bonnet  affr  quoth  I,  ■  Sweet  lass, 

I  think  ye  seem  to  ken  me  ; 
I'm  sure  I've  seen  that  bonie  face, 

But  yet  I  canna  name  ye.' 
Quo'  she,  an'  laughin'  as  she  spak, 

An'  taks  me  by  the  han's, 
•Ye,  for  my  sake,  hae  gi'en  the  feck 

Of  a'  the  ten  comman's 

A  screed  some  day* 


THE  HOLY  FAIR.  15 


'  My  name  is  Fun — your  cronie  dear, 

The  nearest  friend  ye  hae , 
An'  this  is  Superstition  here, 

An'  that's  Hypocrisy. 
I'm  gaun  to  Mauchline  Holy  Fair, 

To  spend  an  hour  in  daffin  : 
Gin  ye'll  go  there,  yon  runkl'd  pair, 

We  will  get  famous  laughin 

At  them  this  day.* 

Quoth  I,  'With  a7  my  heart,  I'll  do't ; 

I'll  get  my  Sunday's  sark  on, 
An*  meet  you  on  the  holy  spot ; 

Faith,  we'se  hae  fine  remarkin  I  * 
Then  I  gaed  hame  at  crowdie-tim^ 

An'  soon  I  made  me  ready  ; 
For  roads  were  clad,  frae  side  to  side, 

Wi'  monie  a  wearie  bodie, 

In  droves  that  day. 

Here,  farmers  gash,  in  ridin  graith 

Gaed  hoddin  by  their  colters , 
There,  swankies  young,  in  braw  braid-claith, 

Are  springin  owre  the  gutters. 
The  lasses,  skelpin  barefit,  thrang, 

In  silks  an'  scarlets  glitter  ; 
Wi'  sweet-milk  cheese,  in  monie  a  whang, 

An'  farls,  bak'd  wi'  butter, 

Fu'  crump  that  day. 

When  by  the  plate  we  set  our  nose, 

Weel  heaped  up  wi'  ha  pence, 
A  greedy  glowr  Black  Bonnet  throws, 

An'  we  maun  draw  our  tippence. 
Then  in  we  go  to  see  the  show, 

On  ev'ry  side  they're  gath'rin, 
Some  carryin  dails,  some  chairs  an*  stools, 

An*  some  are  busy  bleth'rin 

Right  loud  that  day. 

Here  stands  a  shed  to  fend  the  show'rs, 

An'  screen  our  countra  gentry ; 
There,  racer  Jess,  an'  twa-three  whores, 

Are  blinkin  at  the  entry. 
Here  sits  a  raw  o'  tittlin  jades, 

Wi'  heaving  breast  an'  bare  neck 
An'  there,  a  batch  o'  wabster-ladsj 

Blackguarding  frae  Kilmarnock 

For  fun  this  day. 


16  THE  HOLY  FAIR. 


Here,  some  are  thinkin  on  their  sins, 

An'  some  upo'  their  claes ; 
Ane  curses  feet  that  fyl'd  his  shins, 

Anither  sighs  an'  prays : 
On  this  hand  sits  a  chosen  swatch, 

Wi'  screw' d  up,  grace-proud  faces ; 
On  that,  a  set  o'  chaps,  at  watch, 

Thrang  winkin  on  the  lasses 

To  chairs  that  day. 

O  happy  is  that  man  an'  blest ! 

Nae  wonder  that  it  pride  him  ! 
Wha's  ain  dear  lass,  that  he  likes  best, 

Gomes  clinkin  down  beside  him  ! 
Wi'  arm  repos'd  on  the  chair-back, 

He  sweetly  does  compose  him  ; 
Which,  by  degrees,  slips  round  her  neck, 

An's  loof  upon  her  bosom 

Unkend  that  day. 

Now  a'  the  congregation  o'er 

Is  silent  expectation ; 
For  Moodie  speels  the  holy  door, 

WiJ  tidings  o1  damnation. 
Should  Hornie,  as  in  ancient  days, 

'Mang  sons  o1  God  present  him, 
The  vera  sight  o'  Moodie's  face, 

To's  ain  het  hame  had  sent  him 

Wi*  fright  that  day. 

Hear  how  he  clears  the  points  o*  faith 

Wi'  rattlin  an'  wi'  thumpin  \ 
Now  meekly  calm,  now  wild  in  wrath, 

He's  stampin  an'  he's  jumpin  ! 
His  lengthen'd  chin,  his  turned-up  snout, 

His  eldritch  squeel  an'  gestures, 
O  how  they  fire  the  heart  devout, 

Like  cantharidian  plasters, 

On  sic  a  day  X 


But,  hark  !  the  tent  has  chang*d  its  voice  ; 

There's  peace  an'  rest  nae  langer : 
For  a'  the  real  judges  rise, 

They  canna  sit  for  anger. 
Smith  opens  out  his  cauld  harangues, 

On  practice  and  on  morals ; 
An'  aff  the  godly  pour  in  thrangs, 

To  gie  the  jars  an'  barrels 

A  lift  that  day. 


THE  HOL  Y  FAIR. 


What  signifies  his  barren  shine 

Of  moral  pow'rs  an*  reason  ? 
His  English  style,  an'  gesture  fine, 

Are  a'  clean  out  o'  season. 
Like  Socrates  or  Antonine, 

Or  some  auld  pagan  Heathen. 
The  moral  man  he  does  define, 

But  ne'er  a  word  o'  faith  in 

That's  right  that  day. 

In  guid  time  comes  an  antidote 

Against  sic  poison'd  nostrum ; 
For  Peebles,  frae  the  water-fit, 

Ascends  the  holy  rostrum  : 
See,  up  he's  got  the  word  .o*  God 

An'  meek  an'  mim  has  view'd  it, 
While  Common  Sense  has  ta'en  the  road, 

An'  aff,  an'  up  the  Cowgate 

Fast,  fast,  that  day. 


Wee  Miller,  neist,  the  Guard  relieves, 

An'  Orthodoxy  raibles, 
Tho'  in  his  heart  he  weel  believes, 

An'  thinks  it  auld  wives'  fables  : 
But,  faith  !  the  birkie  wants  a  Manse, 

So,  cannilie  he  hums  them  ; 
Altho'  his  carnal  wit  an'  sense 

Like  hafflins-wise  o'ercomes  him 

At  times  that  day. 

Now,  butt  an'  ben,  the  Change-house  fills, 

Wi*  yill-caup  Commentators  : . 
Here's  crying  out  for  bakes  an*  gills, 

An*  there  the  pint-stowp  clatters ; 
While  thick  an'  thrang,  an'  loud  an'  lang, 

Wi'  logic,  an'  wi'  Scripture, 
They  raise  a  din,  that  in  the  end 

Is  like  to  breed  a  rupture 

O'  wrath  that  day. 

Leeze  me  on  Drink  !  it  gi'es  us  mair 

Than  either  School  or  College  : 
It  kindles  Wit,  it  waukens  Lair, 

It  pangs  us  fou  o'  Knowledge. 
Be't  whisky  gill,  Or  penny  wheep, 

Or  ony  stronger  potion, 
It  never  fails,  on  drinkin'  deep, 

To  kittle  up  our  notion 

By  night  or  day, 


iS  THE  HOLY  FAIR. 


The  lads  an*  lasses,  blythely  bent 

To  mind  baith  saul  an'  body, 
Sit  round  the  table,  weel  content, 

An'  steer  about  the  toddy. 
On  this  ane's  dress,  an'  that  ane's  leuk, 

They're  makin  observations ; 
While  some  are  cozie  i'  the  neuk, 

An'  formin  assignations 

To  meet  some  day. 

But  now  the  Lord's  ain  trumpet  touts, 

Till  a'  the  hills  are  rairin, 
An'  echoes  back  return  the  shouts ; 

Black  Russel  is  na  spairin  : 
His  piercing  words,  like  Highlan  swords, 

Divide  the  joints  an'  marrow ; 
His  talk  o'  Hell,  whare  devils  dwell, 

Our  vera  *  sauls  does  harrow ' 

Wi'  fright  that  day  ! 

A  vast,  unbottom'd,  boundless  pit, 

Fill'd  fou  o'  lowin  brunstane, 
Wha's  ragin  flame,  an'  scorchin  heat, 

Wad  melt  the  hardest  whun-stane  ! 
The  half  asleep  start  up  wi'  fear, 

An'  think  they  hear  it  roarin, 
When  presently  it  does  appear, 

'Twas  but  some  neebor  snorin 

Asleep  that  day. 

'Twad  be  owre  lang  a  tale  to  tell 

How  monie  stories  past, 
An  how  they  crowded  to  the  yill, 

When  they  were  a'  dismist : 
How  drink  gaed  round,  in  cogs  an'  caups, 

Amang  the  furms  and  benches  ; 
An*  cheese  an'  bread,  frae  women's  laps, 

Was  dealt  about  in  lunches, 

An'  dawds  that  day. 

In  comes  a  gaucie,  gash  Guidwife, 

An'  sits  down  by  the  fire, 
Syne  draws  her  kebbuck  an'  her  knife ; 

The  lasses  they  are  shyer. 
The  auld  Guidmen,  about  the  grace, 

Frae  side  to  side  they  bother, 
Till  some  ane  by  his  bonnet  lays, 

An'  gi'es  them't  like  a  tether, 

Fu'  lang  that  day. 


DEATH  AND  DOCTOR  HORNBOOK.  i$ 

— ,  .        .  ,  Ml    ■< 

Waesucks  !  for  him  that  gets  nae  lass, 

Or  lasses  that  hae  nae  thing  ! 
Sma'  need  has  he  to  say  a  grace, 

Or  melvie  his  braw  claithing  ! 
O  Wives,  be  mindfu',  ance  yoursel 

How  bonie  lads  ye  wanted, 
An'  dinna,  for  a  kebbuck-heel, 

Let  lasses  be  affronted 

On  sic  a  day ! 

Now  Clinkumb'ell,  wi*  rattling  tow, 

Begins  to  jow  an'  croon  ; 
Some  swagger  hame,  the  best  they  dow, 

Some  wait  the  afternoon. 
At  slaps  the  billies  halt  a  blink, 

Till  lasses  strip  their  shoon : 
Wi'  faith  an'  hope,  an'  love  an'  drink, 

They're  a'  in  famous  tune 

For  crack  that  day. 

How  monie  hearts  this  day  converts 

O'  sinners  and  o'  lasses  ! 
Their  hearts  o'  stane,  gin  night,  are  gane 

As  saft  as  ony  flesh  is. 
There's  some  are  fou  o'  love  divine,  , 

There's  some  are  fou  o'  brandy  ; 
An  monie  jobs  that  day  begin, 

May  end  in  Houghmagandie 

Some  ither  day. 


DEATH  AND  DOCTOR  HORNBOOK 

A  TRUE  STORY. 

Some  books  are  lies  frae  end  to  end, 
And  some  great  lies  were  never  penn'd  : 
Ev'n  Ministers,  they  hae  been  kenn'd, 

In  holy  rapture, 
A  rousing  whid,  at  times,  to  vend, 

And  nail't  wi'  Scripture. 

But  this  that  I  am  gaun  to  tell, 
Which  lately  on  a  night  befell, 
Is  iust  as  true 's  the  Deil  's  in  hell 

Or  Dublin  city : 
That  e'er  he  nearer  comes  oursel 

*s  a  muckle  pity. 
Cfl 


20  DEA  TH  AND  DOCTOR  HORNBOOK. 


The  Clachan  yill  had  made  me  canty,. 

I  wasna  fou,  but  just  had  plenty  ; 

I  stacher'd  whyles,  but  yet  took  tent  ay 

To  free  the  ditches ; 
An*  hillocks,  stanes,  an'  bushes,  kenn'd  ay 

Frae  ghaists  an*  witches. 

The  rising  moon  began  to  glowr 
The  distant  Cumnock  hills  out-owre  : 
To  count  her  horns,  wi'  a'  my  pow'r, 

I  set  mysel ; 
But  whether  she  had  three  or  four, 

I  cou'd  na  tell. 

I  was  come  round  about  the  hill, 
And  todlin  down  on  Willie's  mill, 
Setting  my  staff,  wi'  a1  my  skill, 

To  keep  me  sicker ; 
Tho*  leeward  whyles,  against  my  will, 

I  took  a  bicker. 

I  there  wi'  Something  did  forgather, 

That  pat  me  in  an  eerie  swither ; 

An  awfu'  scythe,  out-owre  ae  shouther, 

Clear-dangling,  hang : 
A  three- taed  leister  on  the  ither 

Lay,  large  an*  lang. 

Its  stature  seem'd  lang  Scotch  ells  twa, 
The  queerest  shape  that  e'er  I  saw, 
For  fient  a  wame  it  had  ava, 

And  then  its  shanks, 
They  were  as  thin,  as  sharp  an'  sma' 

As  cheeks  o'  branks. 

'  Guid-een/  quo'  I ;  *  Friend !  hae  ye  been  mawin, 
When  ither  folk  are  busy  sawin  ?  * 
It  seem'd  to  mak  a  kind  o'  stan\ 

But  naething  spak ; 
At  length,  says  I,  '  Friend,  whare  ye  gaun, 


Will  ye  go  back?* 

It  spak  right  howe — *  My  name  is  Death-, 
But  be  na  fley'd.'— Quoth  1,  *  Guid  faith, 
Ye're  maybe  come  to  stap  my  breath ; 

But  tent  me,  billie  : 
I  red  ye  weel,  tak  care  o'  skaith, 

See,  there's  a  gully ! ' 

*  Gudeman,'  quo'  he,  'put  up  your  whittle, 
I'm  no  design  d  to  try  its  mettle ; 


DBA  TH  AND  DOCTOR  HORNBOOK.  2, 


But  if  I  did,  I  wad  be  kittle 

To  be  mislead  d, 

I  wad  na  mind  it,  no  that  spittle 

Out-owre  my  beard. 

•  Weel,  weel  I  *  says  I,  '  a  bargain  be't ; 
Come,  gies  your  hand,  an'  sae  we're  gree't ; 
We'll  ease  our  shanks  an'  tak  a  seat, 

Gome  gies  your  news ; 
This  while  ye  hae  been  mony  a  gate, 

At  mony  a  house. 

•  Ay,  ay ! '  quo'  he,  an'  shook  his  head. 
1  It  s  e'en  a  lang,  lang  time  indeed 
Sin'  I  began  to  nick  the  thread, 

An'  choke  the  breath  : 
Folk  maun  do  something  for  their  bread, 

An'  sae  maun  Death. 

'  Sax -thousand  years  are  near-hand  fled, 

Sin'  I  was  to  the  butching  bred, 

An'  mony  a  scheme  in  vain 's  been  laid, 

To  stap  or  scaur  me ; 
Till  ane  Hornbook 's  ta'en  up  the  trade, 

An'  faith,  he'll  waur  me. 

'  Ye  ken  Jock  Hornbook  i'  the  Clachan, 
Deil  mak  his  king's-hood  in  a  spleuchan  ! 
He's  grown  sae  well  acquaint  wi'  Buchan 

An'  ither  chaps, 
The  weans  haud  out  their  fingers  laughin 

And  pouk  my  hips. 

•  See,  here's  a  scythe,  and  there's  a  dart, 
They  hae  pierc'd  mony  a  gallant  heart ; 
But  Doctor  Hornbook,  wi'  his  art 

And  cursed  skill, 
Has  made  them  baith  no  worth  a  f— t, 

Damn'd  haet  they'll  kilL 

•  Twas  but  yestreen,  nae  farther  gaen, 
I  threw  a  noble  throw  at  ane  ; 

Wi'  less,  I  m  sure,  I've  hundreds  slain  : 
But  deil-ma-care, 

It  just  play'd  dirl  on  the  bane, 

But  did  nae  mair. 

'  Hornbook  was  by,  wi*  ready  art* 
And  had  sae  fortify'd  the  part* 
That  when  I  looked  to  my  dart, 

It  was  sae  blunt, 
Fient  haet  o't  wad  hae  pierc'd  the  heart 

O'  a  kail-runt. 


22  DEATH  AND  DOCTOR  HORNBOOK. 

*■"      "  ■  -— ■ — — — - — — ———-——————-————------———---—-»-- 

'  I  drew  my  scythe  in  sic  a  fury, 
I  near-hand  cowpit  wi'  my  hurry, 
But  yet  the  bauld  Apothecary 

Withstood  the  shock ; 
I  might  as  weel  hae  try'd  a  quarry 

O'  hard  whin  rock. 


*  E'en  them  he  canna  get  attended, 
Altho'  their  face  he  ne'er  had  kend  it, 
Just  sh  —  in  a  kail-blade,  and  send  it, 

As  soon's  he  smells't, 
Baith  their  disease,  and  what  will  mend  it, 

At  once  he  tells't. 


•  And  then,  a*  doctor's  saws  and  whittles, 
Of  a*  dimensions,  shapes,  an'  mettles, 
A*  kinds  o*  boxes,  mugs,  an'  bottles, 

He's  sure  to  hae  ; 
Their  Latin  names  as  fast  he  rattles 

As  A  B  C. 


*  Calces  o*  fossils,  earths,  and  trees ; 
True  Sal-marinum  o'  the  seas  ; 
The  Farina  of  beans  and  pease, 

He  has't  in  plenty  ; 
Aqua-fontis,  what  you  please, 

He  can  content  ye. 

*  Forbye  some  new,  uncommon  weapons, 
Urinus  Spiritus  of  capons  ; 

Or  Mite-horn  shavings,  filings,  scrapings, 
BhiilYdperse; 

Sal-alkali  oJ  Midge-tail  olippings, 

And  mony  mae. 

*  Waes  me  for  Johnny  Ged's  Hole  now,* 
Quoth  I,  *  if  that  thae  news  be  true  ! 
His  braw  calf- ward  whare  gowans  grew, 

Sae  white  and  bonie, 
Nae  doubt  they'll  rive  it  wi*  the  plew ; 

They'll  ruin  Johnie  T 


The  creature  grain'd  an  eldritch  laugh, 
And  says,  '  Ye  needna  yoke  the  pleugh, 
JCirk-yards  will  soon  be  till'd  eneugh, 

Tak  ye  nae  fear : 
They'll  a1  be  trench'd  wi'  mony  a  sheugh 

In  twa-three  year. 


DBA  Til  AND  DOCTOR  HORNBOdt.  23 

— -1-  .1       ,M 

4  Whare  I  kilPd  ane  a  fair  strae-death, 
By  loss  o'  blood  or  want  of  breath, 
This  night  I'm  free  to  tak  my  aith, 

That  Hornbook's  skill 
Has  clad  a  score  i'  their  last  claith, 

By  drap  and  pill 

'Art  honest  Wabster  to  his  trade, 

Whase  wife's  twa  nieves  were  scarce  well-bred, 

Gat  tippence-worth  to  mend  her  head, 

When  it  was  sair  ; 
The  wife  elade  cannie  to  her  bed, 

But  ne'er  spak  mair* 

4  A  countra  Laird  had  ta'en  the  batts, 
Or  some  curmurring  in  his  guts, 
His  only  son  for  Hornbook  sets, 

An'  pays  him  well. 
The  lad,  for  twa  guid  gimmer-pets, 

Was  Laird  himseL 

*  A  bonie  lass,  ye  kend  her  name, 

Some  ill-brewn  drink  had  hov'd  her  watfie  J 

She  trusts  hersel,  to  hide  the  shame, 

In  Hornbook'9  care } 
Horn  sent  her  aff  to  her  lang  hame, 

To  hide  it  there* 

4  That's  just  a  swatch  o'  Hornbook's  way \ 
Thus  goes  he  on  from  day  to  day, 
Thus  does  he  poison,  kill,  an*  slay, 

An's  weel  pay'd  for't  j 
Yet  stops  me  o'  my  lawfu*  prey, 

Wi'  his  damn'd  dirt* 

4  But,  hark  !  I'll  tell  you  of  a  plot, 
Tho'  dinna  ye  be  speaking  o't ; 
I'll  nail  the  self-con.ceited  Sot 

As  dead's  a  hefrint 
Niest  time  we  meet,  I'll  wad  a  groat, 

He^get8hisfaitiml, 

But  just  as  he  began  to  tell, 

The  auld  kirk-hammer  strak  the  bell 

Some  wee,  short  hour  ayont  the  twal, 

Which  rais'd  us  baith  } 
I  took  the  way  that  pleas'd  mysel, 

And  sae  did  Death* 


THE  BRIGS  OF  A  YR. 


THE    BRIGS    OF   AYR. 

A   POEM. 

INSCRIBED  TO  JOHN   BALLANTINE,    ESQ.   AYR. 

The  simple  Bard,  rough  at  the  rustic  plough, 

Learning  his  tuneful  trade  from  ev'ry  bough  ; 

The  chanting  linnet,  or  the  mellow  thrush  ; 

Hailing  the  setting  sun,  sweet,  in  the  green  thorn  bush : 

The  soaring  lark,  the  perching  red-breast  shrill, 

Or  deep-ton'd  plovers,  grey,  wild-whistling  o'er  the  hill 

Shall  he,  nurst  in  the  Peasant's  lowly  shed, 

To  hardy  independence  bravely  bred, 

By  early  poverty  to  hardship  steel'd, 

And  train'd  to  arms  in  stern  Misfortune's  field ; 

Shall  he  be  guilty  of  their  hireling  crimes, 

The  servile,  mercenary  Swiss  of  rhymes  ? 

Or  labour  hard  the  panegyric  close, 

"With  all  the  venal  soul  of  dedicating  Prose  ? 

No !  though  his  artless  strains  he  rudely  sings, 

And  throws  his  hand  uncouthly  o'er  the  strings, 

He  glows  with  all  the  spirit  of  the  Bard, 

Fame,  honest  fame,  his  great,  his  dear  reward. 

Still,  if  some  Patron's  gcn'rous  care  he  trace, 

Skill' d  in  the  secret,  to  bestow  with  grace  ; 

When  Ballantyne  befriends  his  humble  name 

And  hands  the  rustic  Stranger  up  to  fame, 

With  heartfelt  throes  his  grateful  bosom  swells, 

The  godlike  bliss,  to  give,  alone  excels. 


'Twas  when  the  stacks  get  on  their  winter-hap, 
And  thack  and  rape  secure  the  toil- won  crap ; 
Potatoe-bings  are  snugged  up  frae  skaith 
O'  coming  Winter's  biting,  frosty  breath  ; 
The  bees,  rejoicing  o'er  their  summer  toils, 
Unnumber'd  buds  an'  flow'rs,  delicious  spoils, 
Seal'd  up  with  frugal  care  in  massive  waxen  piles, 
Are  doom'd  by  Man,  that  tyrant  o'er  the  weak, 
The  death  o'  devils,  smoor'd  wi'  brimstone  reek : 
The  thund'ring  guns  are  heard  on  ev'ry  side, 
The  wounded  coveys,  reeling,  scatter  wide  ; 
The  feather'd  field-mates,  bound  by  Nature's  tie, 
Sires,  mothers,  children,  in  one  carnage  lie : 


THE  BRIGS  OF  A  YR.  25 

(What  warm,  poetic  heart,  but  inly  bleeds, 
And  execrates  man's  savage,  ruthless  deeds !) 
Nae  mair  the  flow'r  in  field  or  meadow  springs ; 
Nae  mair  the  grove  with  airy  concert  rings, 
Except  perhaps  the  Robin's  whistling  glee, 
Proud  o'  the  height  o'  some  bit  half-lang  tree  : 
The  hoary  morns  precede  the  sunny  days, 
Mild,  calm,  serene,  wide  spreads  the  noontide  blaze, 
While  thick  the  gossamour  waves  wanton  in  the  rays. 

'Twas  in  that  season ;  when  a  simple  Bard, 

Unknown  and  poor,  simplicity's  reward, 

Ae  night,  within  the  ancient  brugh  of  Ayr, 

By  whim  inspir'd,  or  haply  prest  wi'  care, 

He  left  his  bed  and  took  his  wayward  rout, 

And  down  by  Simpson's  wheel'd  the  left  about : 

(Whether  impell'd  by  all-directing  Fate, 

To  witness  what  I  after  shall  narrate  ; 

Or  whether,  rapt  in  meditation  high, 

He  wander'd  out  he  knew  not  where  nor  why :) 

The  drowsy  Dungeon  clock  had  number'd  two, 

And  Wallace  Tow'r  had  sworn  the  fact  was  true  : 

The  tide-svvoln  Firth,  wi'  sullen-sounding  roar, 

Through  the  still  night  dash'd  hoarse  along  the  shore  : 

All  else  was  hush'd  as  Nature's  closed  e'e ; 

The  silent  moon  shone  high  o'er  tow'r  and  tree  : 

The  chilly  frost,  beneath  the  silver  beam, 

Crept,  gently-crusting,  owre  the  glittering  stream.— 

When,  lo  !  on  either  hand  the  list'ning  Bard, 
The  clanging  sugh  of  whistling  wings  is  heard  ; 
Two  dusky  forms  dart  thro'  the  midnight  air, 
Swift  as  the  Gos  drives  on  the  wheeling  hare  ; 
Ane  on  th'  Auld  Brig  his  airy  shape  uprears, 
The  ither  flutters  o'er  the  rising  piers : 
Our  warlock  Rhymer  instantly  descry'd 
The  Sprites  that  owre  the  Brigs  of  Ayr  preside. 
(That  Bards  are  second-sighted  is  nae  joke, 
And  ken  the  lingo  of  the  sp'ritual  folk  ; 
Fays,  Spunkies,  Kelpies,  a',  they  can  explain  them, 
And  ev'n  the  vera  deils  they  brawly  ken  them.) 
Auld  Brig  appear'd  o'  ancient  Pictish  race, 
The  vera  wrinkles  Gothic  in  his  face  : 
He  seem'd  as  he  wi'  Time  had  warstl'd  lang, 
Yet,  teughly  doure,  he  bade  an  unco  bang. 
New  Brig  was  buskit,  in  a  braw  new  coat, 
That  he,  at  Lon'on,  fr'ae  ane  Adams  got ; 
In's  hand  five  taper  staves  as  smooth's  a  bead, 
Wi'  virls  an'  whirlygigums  at  the  head. 
The  Goth  was  stalking  round  with  anxious  search, 
Spying  the  time-worn  flaws  in  ev'ry  arch  ; 
It  chanc'd  his  new-come  neebor  took  his  e'e, 
And  e'en  a  vex'd  and  angry  heart  had  he  1 


36  THE  BRIGS  OF  A  YR. 


Wi'  thieveless  sneer  to  see  his  modish  mien, 
He,  down  the  water,  gies  him  this  guid-een  :— 

AULD  BRIG. 

I  doubt  na,  Frien',  ye'll  think  ye're  nae  sheep-shank, 
Ance  ye  were  streekit  owre  frae  bank  to  bank ! 
But  gin  ye  be  a  brig  as  auld  as  me, 
Tho',  faith  !  that  date,  I  doubt,  ye'll  never  see  ; 
There'll  be,  if  that  day  come,  I'll  wad  a  boddle, 
Some  fewer  whigmeleeries  in  your  noddle. 

NEW  BRIG. 

Auld  Vandal,  ye  but  show  your  little  mense, 
Just  much  about  it  wi'  your  scanty  sense ; 
Will  your  poor,  narrow  foot-path  of  a  street, 
Where  twa  wheel-barrows  tremble  when  they  meet, 
Your  ruin'd,  formless  bulk  o'  stane  and  lime, 
Compare  wi'  bonie  Brigs  6*  modern  time  ? 
There's  men  of  taste  wou'd  tak  the  Ducat-stream, 
Tho'  they  should  cast  the  vera  sark  and  swim, 
Ere  they  would  grate  their  feelings. wi'  the  view 
O'  sic  an  ugly,  Gothic  hulk  as  you. 

AULD  BRIG. 

Conceited  gowk  !  puff'd  up  wi'  windy  pride  ! 
This  mony  a  year  I've  stood  the  flood  an  tide ; 
And  tho'  wi'  crazy  eild  I'm  sair  forfairn, 
I'll  be  a  Brig,  when  ye're  a  shapeless  cairn  J 
As  yet  ye  little  ken  about  the  matter, 
But  twa-three  winters  will  inform  ye  better. 
When  heavy,  dark,  continued,  a'-day  rains, 
Wi'  deepening  deluges  o'erflow  the  plains  ; 
When  from  the  hills  where  springs  the  brawling  Coil, 
Or  stately  Lugar's  mossy  fountains  boil, 
Or  where  the  Greenock  winds  his  moorland  course 
Or  haunted  Garpal  draws  his  feeble  source, 
Arous'd  by  blust'nng  winds  an'  spotting  thowes; 
In  mony  a  torrent  down  his  snaw-broo  rowes  ; 
While  crashing  ice,  borne  on  the  roaring  spate, 
Sweeps  dams,  an'  mills,  an'  brigs,  a'  to  the  gate ; 
And  from  Glenbuck,  down  to  the  Ratton-key, 
Auld  Ayr  is  just  one  lengthen'd,  tumbling  sea ; 
Then  down  ye'll  hurl,  deil  nor  ye  never  rise ! 
And  dash  the  gumlie  jaups  up  to  the  pouring  skies. 
A  lesson  sadly  teaching,  to  your  cost, 
That  Architecture's  noble  art  is  lost! 

NEW  BRIG. 

Fine  Architecture,  trowth,  I  needs  must  say't  o't ; 
The  Lord  be  thankit  that  we've  tint  the  gate  o't  1 
Gaunt,  ghastly,  ghaist-alluring  edifices, 
Hanging  with  threat'ning  jut,  like  precipices  : 


THE  BRIGS  OF  A  YR.  Vj 


O'er  arching,  mouldy,  gloom-inspiring  coves, 

Supporting  roofs,  fantastic,  stony  groves  •. 

Windows  and  doors  in  nameless  sculptures  drest, 

With  order,  symmetry,  or  taste  unblest ; 

Forms  like  some  bedlam  Statuary's  dream, 

The  craz'd  creations  of  misguided  whim  ; 

Forms  might  be  worshipp'd  on  the  bended  knee, 

And  still  the  second  dread  command  be  free, 

Their  likeness  is  not  found  on  earth,  in  air,  or  sea. 

Mansions  that  would  disgrace  the  building  taste 

Of  any  mason  reptile,  bird,  or  beast ; 

Fit  only  for  a  doited  monkish  race, 

Or  frosty  maids  forsworn  the  dear  embrace, 

Or  cuifs  of  later  times,  wha  held  the  notion, 

That  sullen  gloom  was  sterling,  true  devotion  ; 

Fancies  that  our  guid  Brugh  denies  protection, 

And  soon  may  they  expire,  unblest  with  resurrection  I 

AULD  BRIG. 

O  ye,  my  dear-remember'd,  ancient  yealins, 
Were  ye  but  here  to  share  my  wounded  feelings ! 
Ye  worthy  Proveses,  an'  mony  a  Bailie, 
Wha  in  the  paths  o'  righteousness  did  toil  ay ; 
Ye  dainty  Deacons,  an  ye  douce  Conveeners, 
To  whom  our  moderns  are  biit  causey-cleaners  ! 
Ye  godly  Councils  wha  hae  blest  this- town; 
Ye. godly  Brethren  o'  the  sacred  gown, 
Wha  meekly  gie  your  hurdies  to  the  smiters ; 
And  (what  would  now  be  strange)  ye  godly  Writers  t 
A'  ye  douce  folk  I've  borne  aboon  the  broo, 
Were  ye  but  here,  what  wculd  ye  say  or  do  ! 
How  would  your  spirits  groan  in  deep  vexation, 
To  see  each  melancholy  alteration  ; 
And  agonizing,  curse  the  time  and  place 
When  ye  begat  the  base,  degen'rate  race ! 
NaeJanger  Rev'rend  Men,  their  country's  glory, 
In  plain  braid  Scots  hold  forth  a  plain  braid  story 
Nae  langer  thrifty  Citizens,  an'  douce, 
Meet  owre  a  pint,  or  in  the  Council-house ; 
But  staumrel,  corky-headed,  graceless  Gentry* 
The  herryment  and  ruin  of  the  country ; 
Men,  three-parts  made  by  Tailors  and  by  Barbers, 
Wha  waste  your  weel-hain'd  gear  on  damn'd  new  Brigs 
and  Harbours ! 

NEW  BRIG. 

Now  haud  you  there  !  faith  ye've  said  enough, 
And  muckle  mair  than  ye  can  mak  to  through  ; 
As  for  your  Priesthood,  I  shall  say  but  little, 
Corbies  and  Clergy  are  a  shot  right  kittle  : 


THE  BRIGS  OF  AYR. 


But,  under  favour  o'  your  langer  beard, 

Abuse  o'  Magistrates  might  weel  be  spar'd  : 

To  liken  them  to  your  auld-warld  squad, 

I  must  needs  say,  comparisons  are  odd. 

In  Ayr,  Wag-wits  nae  mair  can  have  a  handle 

To  mouth  *a  Citizen,'  a  term  o'  scandal : 

Nae  mair  the  Council  waddles  down  the  street, 

In  all  the  pomp  of  ignorant  conceit ; 

Men  wha  grew  wise  priggin  owre  hops  an'  raisins, 

Or  gather' d  lib'ral  views  in  bonds  and  seisins. 

If  haply  Knowledge,  on  a  random  tramp, 

Had  shorM  them  wi'  a  glimmer  of  his  lamp, 

And  would  to  Common-sense  for  once  betray'd  them, 

Plain,  dull  Stupidity  stept  kindly  in  to  aid  them. 

What  farther  clishmaclaver  might  been  said, 
What  bloody  wars,  if  Sprites  had  blood  to  shed, 
No  man  can  tell ;  but  all  before  their  sight 
A  fairy  train  appear'd  in  order  bright : 
Adown  the  glittering  stream  they  featly  danc'd  ; 
Bright  to  the  moon  their  various  dresses  glanc'd  : 
They  footed  o'er  the  wat'ry  glass  so  neat, 
The  infant  ice  scarce  bent  beneath  their  feet : 
While  arts  of  Minstrelsy  among  them  rung, 
And  soul-ennobling  Bards  heroic  ditties  sung. 
O  had  M'Lauchlan,  thairm-inspiring  sage, 
Been  there  to  hear  this  heavenly  band  engage, 
When  thro'  his  dear  strathspeys  they  bore  with  Highland  rage, 
Or  when  they  struck  old  Scotia's  melting  airs, 
The  lover's  raptur'd  joys  or  bleeding  cares ; 
How  would  his  Highland  lug  been  nobler  fir'd, 
And  ev'n  his  matchless  hand  with  finer  touch  inspir'd ! 
No  guess  could  tell  what  instrument  appear'd, 
But  all  the  soul  of  Music's  self  was  heard; 
Harmonious  concert  rung  in  every  part, 
While  simple  melody  pour'd  moving  on  the  heart. 

The  Genius  of  the  Stream  in  front  appears, 
A  venerable  Chief,  advanc'd  in  years ; 
His  hoary  head  with  water-lilies  crown'd, 
His  manly  leg  with  garter  tangle  bound. 
Next  came  the  loveliest  pair  in  all  the  ring, 
Sweet  Female  Beauty  hand  in  hand  with  Spring ; 
Then,  crown'd  with  flow'ry  hay,  came  Rural  Joy, 
And  Summer,  with  his  fervid-beaming  eye  : 
All-cheer; ng  Plenty,  with  her  flowing  horn, 
Led  yellow  Autumn  wreath'd  with  nodding  corn ; 
Then  Winter's  time-bleach 'd  locks  did  hoary  show, 
By  Hospitality  with  cloudless  brow; 
Next  follow'd  Courage  with  his  martial  stride, 
From  where  the  Feal  wild-woody  coverts  hide ; 
Benevolence,  with  mild,  benignant  air, 
A  female  form,  came  from  the  tow'rs  of  Stair  : 


THE  ORDINATION. 


29 


Learning  and  Worth  in  equal  measures  trode 

From  simple  Catrine,  their  long-lov'd  abode  : 

Last,  white-rob 'd  Peace,  crown'd  with  a  hazel  wreath, 

To  rustic  Agriculture  did  bequeath 

The  broken,  iron  instruments  of  death  : 

At  sight  of  whom  our  Sprites  forgat  their  kindling  wrath. 


THE    ORDINATION. 

For  sense,  they  little  owe  to  frugal  Heav'n— 
Td  please  the  mob,  they  hide  the  little  giifn* 


Kilmarnock  Wabsters,  fidge  and  claw, 

An'  pour  your  creeshie  nations  ; 
An'  ye  wha  leather  rax  an'  draw, 

Of  a'  denominations ; 
Swith  to  the  Laigh  Kirk,  ane  an*  a', 

An'  there  tak  up  your  stations  ; 
Then  aflf  to  Begbie's  in  a  raw, 

An*  pour  divine  libations 

For  joy  this  day. 

Curst  Common-sense,  that  imp  o'  hell, 

Cam  in  wi'  Maggie  Lauder  ; 
But  Oliphant  aft  made  her  yell, 

An'  Russel  sair  misca'd  her ; 
This  day  M*Kinlay  takes  the  flail, 

An'  he's  the  boy  will  blaud  her  ! 
He'll  clap  a  shangan  on  her  tail, 

An'  set  the  bairns  to  daud  her 

Wi'  dirt  this  day. 

Mak  haste  an'  turn  king  David  owre, 

An'  lilt  wi'  holy  clangor ; 
O'  double  verse  come  gie  us  four, 

An'  skirl  up  the  Bangor  : 
This  day  the  Kirk  kicks  up  a  stoure, 

Nae  mair  the  knaves  shall  wrang  her, 
For  Heresy  is  in  her  pow'r, 

And  gloriously  she'll  whang  her 
Wi'  pith  this  day. 

Come,  let  a  proper  text  be  Tead, 

An'  touch  it  off  wi'  vigour, 
How  graceless  Ham  leugh  at  his  Dad, 

Which  made  Canaan  a  niger  : 
Or  Phineas  drove  the  murdering  blade, 

Wi'  whore-abhorring  rigour ; 
Or  Zipporah,  the  scauldin  jad, 

Was  like  a  bluidy  tiger 

I'  th'  Inn  that  day. 


There,  try  his  mettle  on  the  creed, 

And  bind  him  down  wi'  caution, 
That  Stipend  is  a  carnal  weed 

He  takes  but  for  the  fashion  ; 
An'  gie  him  o'er  the  flock,  to  feed, 

And  punish  each  transgression  ; 
Especial,  rams  that  cross  the  breed, 

Gie  them  sufficient  threshin, 

Spare  them  nae  day. 

Now  auld  Kilmarnock,  cock  thy  tail, 

An'  toss  thy  horns  fu'  canty  ; 
Nae  mair  thou'lt  rowte  out-owre  the  dale, 

Because  thy  pasture's  scanty ; 
For  lapfu's  large  o'  gospel  kail 

Shall  fill  thy  crib  in  plenty, 
An  runts  o'  grace  the  pick  an'  wale, 

No  gi'en  by  way  o'  dainty, 

But  ilka  day. 

Nae  mair  by  Babel  streams  we'll  weep, 

To  think  upon  our  Zion ; 
And  hing  our  fiddles  up  to  sleep, 

Like  baby-clouts  a-dryin  : 
Come,  screw  the  pegs  wi'  tunefu*  cheep, 

And  o'er  the  thairms  be  tryin ; 
Oh  rare  !  to  see  our  elbucks  wheep, 

And  a'  like  lamb-tails  flyin 

Fu'  fast  this  day  ! 

Lang,  Patronage,  wi'  rod  o'  aim, 

Has  shor'd  the  Kirk's  undoin, 
As  lately  Fenwick,  sair  forfairn, 

Has  proven  to  his  ruin  . 
Our  Patron,  honest  man  1  Glencairn, 

He  saw  mischief  was  brewin ; 
And  like  a  godly,  elect  bairn, 

He's  wal'd  us  out  a  true  ane, 

And  sound  this  day. 


30 


THE  CALF. 


Now  Robinson  harangue  nae  mair, 

But  steek  your  gab  for  ever  : 
Or  try  the  wicked  town  of  Ayr, 

For  there  they'll  think  you  clever ; 
Or,  nae  reflection  on  your  lear, 

Ye  may  commence  a  Shaver ; 
Or  to  the  Netherton  repair, 

And  turn  a  Carpet-weaver 

Aff-hand  this  day. 

Mutrie  and  you  were  just  a  match, 

We  never  had  sic  twa  drones  : 
Auld  Hornie  did  the  Laigh  Kirk  watch, 

Just  like  a  winkin  baudrons  : 
And  ay  he  catch'd  the  tither  wretch, 

To  fry  them  in  hjs  caudrons  ; 
But  now  his  Honour  maun  detach, 
;tone  squadrons, 
Fast,  fast  this  day. 

See,  see  auld  Orthodoxy's  faes 

She's  swingein  thro'  the  city ; 
Hark,  how  the  nine-tail'd  cat  she  plays  ! 

I  vow  it's  unco  pretty  ! 
There,  Learning,  with  his  Greekish  face, 

Grunts  out  some  Latin  ditty  ; 
And  Common -sense  is  gaun,  she  says, 

To  mak  to  Jamie  Beattie 

Her  plaint  this  day. 


But  there's  Morality  himsel, 

Embracing  all  opinions  ; 
Hear,  how  he  gies  the  tither  yell, 

Between  his  twa  companions ; 
See,  how  she  peels  the  skin  an'  fell, 

As  ane  were  peelin  onions ! 
Now  there,  they're  packed  aff  to  hell, 

And  banish'd  our  dominions, 

Henceforth  this  day. 

O  happy  day !  rejoice,  rejoice  ! 

Come  bouse  about  the  porter  ! 
Morality's  demure  decoys 

Shall  here  nae  mair  find  quarter : 
M  'Kinlay,  Russel  are  the  boys 

That  heresy  can  torture  ; 
They'll  gie  her  on  a  rape,  a  hoyse, 

And  cowe  her  measure  shorter 

By  th'  head  some  day. 

Come,  bring  the  tither  mutchkin  in, 

And  here's,  for  a  conclusion, 
To  every  New  Light  mother's  son, 

From  this  time  forth,  Confusion  : 
If  mair  ,(hey  deave  us  wi'  their  din, 

Or  Patronage  intrusion, 
We']l  light  a  spunk,  and,  ev'ry  skin, 

\VVll  rin  them  aff  in  fusion 

Like  oil,  some  day. 


THE    CALF. 

TO  THE  REV.  MR.  JAMES  STEVEN,  ON  HIS  TEXT,  MALACHI,  CH.  IV.  VER.  2. 

u  And  ye  shall  go  forth,  and  grow  up  as  calves  of  the  stall*' 


Right,  Sir  !  your  text  I'll  prove  it  true, 

Tho'  Heretics  may  laugh  ; 
For  instance,  there's  yoursel  just  now, 

God  knows,  an  unco  Calf ! 

And  should  some  Patron  be  so  kind, 

As  bless  you  wi'  a  kirk,  / 
I  doubt  na,  Sir,  but  then  we'll  find, 

Ye're  still  as  great  a  Stirk. 

But,  if  the  Lover's  raptur'd  hour 

Shall  ever  be  your  lot, 
Forbid  it,  ev'ry  heavenly  Power, 

You  e'er  should  be  a  Stot ! 


Tho',  when  some  kind,  connubial  Dear, 

Your  but-and-ben  adorns, 
The  like  has  been  that  you  may  wear 

A  noble  head  of  horns. 

And,  in  your  lug,  most  reverend  James, 
To  hear  you  roar  and  rowte, 

Few  men  o'.sense  will  doubt  your  claims 
To  rank  amang  the  Nowte. 

And  when  ye're  number'd  wi'  the  dead, 

Below  a  grassy  hillock, 
Wi'  justice  they  may  mark  your  head — 

*  Here  lies  a  famous  Bullock  I ' 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  DEIL. 


3* 


ADDRESS    TO    THE    DEIL. 


O  Prince  l  O  Chief  of  many  throned  Pow'rs, 
That  led  tti  embattled  Seraphim  to  war— 

MILTON. 


O  THOU  !  whatever  title  suit  thee, 
Auld  Hornie,  Satan,  Nick,  or  Clootie, 
Wha  in  yon  cavern  grim  an'  sootie, 

Clos'd  under  hatches, 
Spairgcs  about  the  brunstane  cootie, 

To  scaud  poor  wretches ! 

Hear  me,  auld  Hangie,  for  a  wee, 
An'  let  poor  damned  bodies  be  ; 
I'm  sure  sma'  pleasure  it  can  gie, 

Ev'n  to  a  deil, 
To  skelp  an*  scaud  poor  dogs  like  me, 

An'  hear  us  squeel ! 

Great  is  thy  pow'r,  an'  great  thy  fame  ; 
Far  kend  an'  noted  is  thy  name  ; 
An'  tho'  yon  lowin  tieugh's  thy  hame, 

Thou  travels  far ; 
An'  faith  !  thou's  neither  lag  nor  lame, 

Nor  blate  nor  scaur. 

Whyles,  ranging  like  a  roarin  lion 
For  prey,  a'  holes  an'  corners  tryin  ; 
Whyles  on  the  strong-wing'd  Tempest 
flyin, 

Tirlin  the  kirks ; 
Whyles,  in  the  human  bosom  pryin, 
Unseen  thou  lurks. 

I've  heard  my  reverend  Graunie  say, 
In  lanely  glens  ye  like  to  stray  ; 
Or  where  auld,  ruin'd  castles,  gray,- 

Nod  to  the  moon, 
Ye  fright  the  nightly  wand'rer's  way, 

Wi'  eldritch  croon. 

When  twilight  did  my  Graunie  summon, 
Tosayherpray'rs,  douce,  honest  woman ! 
Aft  yont  the  dyke    she's    heard   you 
bummin, 

Wi'  eerie  drone ; 
Or,  rustlin,  thro'  the  boortrees  comin, 
Wi'  heavy  groan. 


Ae  dreary,  windy,  winter  night, 

The  stars  shot  down  wi'  sklentin  light, 

Wi'  you,  mysel,  I  gat  a  fright, 

Ayont  the  lough ; 
Ye,  like  a  rash-buss,  stood  in  sight, 

Wi'  waving  sugh. 

The  cudgel  in  my  nieve  did  shake, 
Each  bristl'd  hair  stood  like  a  stake, 
When  wi'  an  eldritch,   stoor  quaick, 
quaick, 

Amang  the  springs, 
Awa  ye  squatter'd  like  a  drake, 

On  whistling  wings. 

Let  warlocks  grim,  an'  wither'd  hags, 
Tell  how  wi'  you  on  ragweed  nags, 
They  skim  the  muirs,  an'  dizzy  crags, 

Wi'  v/icked  speed ; 
And  in  kirk -yards  renew  their  leagues, 

Owre  howkit  dead. 

Thence,  countra  wives,  wi'  toil  an'  pain, 
May  plunge  an'  plunge  the  kirn  in  vain; 
For,  oh  !  the  yellow  treasure's  taen 

By  witching  skill ; 
An'  dawtit,  twal-pint  Hawkie's  gaen 

As  yell's  the  Bill. 

Thence,  mysuc  knots  mak  great  abuse, 
On  young  Guidmen,  fond,   keen,  an' 

crouse ; 
When  the  best  wark-lume  i'  the  house, 

By  cantrip  wit, 
Is  instant  made  no  worth  a  louse, 
Just  at  the  bit. 

When  thowes  dissolve  the  snawy  hoord, 
An'  float  the  jinglin  icy-boord, 
Then,  Water-kelpies  haunt  the  foord, 

By  your  direction, 
An'  nighted  Travelers  are  allur'd 

To  their  destruction. 


32 


DEATH  AND  DYING  WORDS 


An'  aft  your  moss-traversing  Spunkies 
Decoy  the  wight  that  late  an'  drunk  is  : 
The  bleezin,  curst,  mischievous  monkies 

Delude  his  eyes, 
Till  in  some  miry  slough  he  sunk  is, 

Ne'er  mair  to  rise. 

When  Masons'  mystic  word  an'  grip, 
In.  storms  an'  tempests  raise  you  up, 
Some  cock  or  cat  your  rage  maun  stop, 

Or,  strange  to  tell  i 
The  youngest  Brother  ye  wad  whip 

Aff  straught  to  hell. 

Lang  syne,  in  Eden's  bonie  yard, 
When  yduthfu'  lovers  first  were  pair'd, 
An'  all  the  soul  of  love  they  shar'd, 

The  raptuv'd  hour, 
Sweet  on  the  fragrant,  flow'ry  swaird, 

In  shady  bow'r ; 

Then  you,  ye  auld,  snick-drawing  dog  ! 

Ye  came  to  Paradise  incog. 

An'  play'd  on  man  a  cursed  brogue, 

(Black  be  you  fa !) 
An'  gied  the4nfant  warld  a  shog, 

'Maist  ruin'd  a'. 

D'ye  mind  that  day,  when  in  a  bizz, 
Wi'  reekit  duds,  an'  reestit  gizz, 
Ye  did  present  your  smoutie  phiz, 
'Mang  better  folk, 


An'  sklented  on  the  man  of  Uzz* 

Your  spitefu'  joke  ? 

An'  how  ye  gat  him  i'  your  thrall, 
An'  brak  him  out  o'  house  an'  hal', 
While  scabs  an'  blotches  did  him  gall, 

Wi*  bitter  claw, 
An'  lows'd  his  ill-tongu'd,  wicked  Scawl, 

Was  warst  ava  ? 


But  a'  your  doings  to  rehearse, 
Your  wily  snares  an'  fechtin  fierce, 
Sin'  that  day  Michael  did  you  pierce, 

Down  to  this  time, 
Wad  ding  a'  Lallan  tongue,  or  Erse, 

In  prose  or  rhyme. 

An'  now,  auld  Cloots,  I  ken  ye're  thinkin, 
A  certain  Bardie's  rantin,  drinkin, 
Some  luckless  hour  will  send  him  linkin, 

To  your  black  pit ; 
But,  faith  !  he'll  turn  a  corner  jinkin, 

An'  cheat  you  yet. 

But,  fare  you  weel,  auld  Nickie  ben  \ 
O  wad  ye  tak  a  thought  an'  men'  ! 
Ye  aiblins  might—  I  dinna  ken — 

Still  hae  a  stake — 
I'm  wae  to  think  upo'  yon  den, 

Ev'n  for  your  sake  ! 


THE  DEATH  AND  DYING  WORDS  OF  POOR  MAILIE, 
THE  AUTHOR'S   ONLY   PET  YOWE, 


AN  UNCO  MOURNFW  TALE. 


As  Mailie,  an'  her  lambs  thegither, 
Was  ae  day  nibbling  on  the  tether, 
Upon  her  cloot  she  coost  a  hitch, 
An'  owre  she  warsl'd  in  the  ditch  ; 
There,  groaning,  dying,  she  did  lie, 
When  Hughoc  he  cam  doytin  by. 

Wi'  glovvrin  een,  an'  lifted  han's, 
Poor  Hughoc  like  a  statue  Stan's  ; 
He  saw,  her  days  were  near  hand  ended, 
But,  waes my  heart !  he  could  na  mend  it ! 
He  gaped  wide,  but  naething  spak. 
At  length  poor  Mailie  silence  brak. 


'  O  thou,  whase  lamentable  face 
Appears  to  mourn  my  woefu'  case  ! 
My  dying  words  attentive  hear, 
An'  bear  them  to  my  Master  dear. 

4  Tell  him,  if  e'er  again  he  keep 
As  muckle  gear  as  buy  a  sheep, 
O,  bid  him  never  tie  them  mair 
Wi'  wicked  strings  o'  hemp  or  hair ! 
But  ca'  them  out  to  park  or  hill, 
An'  let  them  wander  at  their  will ; 
So  may  his- flock  increase,  an'  grow 
To  scores  o'  lambs,  an'  packs  o'  woo' ! 


OF  POOR  MA1LIE. 


Si 


'Tell  him,  he  was  a  Master  Ida', 
An*  ay  was  guid  to  me  an'  mine  ; 
An'  now  my  dying  charge  I  gie  him, 
My  helpless  lambs,  I  trust  them  wi'  him. 

'  O,  bid  him  save  their  harmless  lives, 
Frae  dogs,  an'  tods,  an'  butchers'  knives! 
But  gie  them  guid  cow- milk  their  fill, 
Till  they  be  fit  to  fend  themsel  : 
An*  tent  them  duly,  e'en  an'  morn, 
Wi'  teats  o'  hay  an?  ripps  o'  corn. 

'  An'  may  they  never  learn  the  gaets 
Of  ither  vile  wanrestfu'  pets  ! 
To  slink  thro'  slaps,  an'  reave  an'  steal, 
At  stacks  o'  pease,  or  stocks  o'  kail. 
So  may  they,  like  their  great  Forbears, 
For  monie  a  year  come  thro'  the  sheers ; 
So  wives  will  gie  them  bits  o'  bread, 
An'  bairns  greet  for  them  when  they're 
dead. 

'  My  poor  toop-lamb,  my  son  an'  heir, 
O,  bid  him  breed  him  up  wi'  care  ! 
An',  if  he  live  to  be  a  beast, 
To  pit  some  havins  in  his  breast ! 


An'  warn  him,  what  I  winna  name, 
To  stay  content  wi'  yowes  at  hame ; 
An'  no  to  rin  an'  wear  his  cloots, 
Like  ither  menseless,  graceless,  brutes. 

1  An'  niest  my  yowie,  silly  thing, 
Gude  keep  thee  frae  a  tether  string ! 
O,  may  thou  ne'er  forgather  up 
Wi'  ony  blastit,  moorland  toop ; 
But  ay  keep  mind  to  moop  an'  mell, 
Wi'  sheep  o'  credit  like  thysel ! 

'And  now,  my  bairns,  wi*  my  last 
breath 
I  lea'e  my  blessin  wi'  you  baith  : 
An'  when  you.  think  upo'  your  Mither, 
Mind  to  be  kind  to  ane  anither. 

'  Now,  honest  Hughoc,  dinna  fail, 
To  tell  my  Master  a'  my  tale  ; 
An'  bid  him  burn  this  cursed  tether, 
An',  for  thy  pains,  thou'se  get  my  blether.' 

This  said,  poor  Mailie  turn'd  her  head, 
An'  clos'd  her  een  amang  the  dead  1 


POOR   MAI  LIE'S   ELEGY. 


Lament  in  rhyme,  lament  in  prose, 
Wi'  saut  tears  trickling  down  your  nose ; 
Our  Bardie's  fate  is  at  a  close, 

Past  a'  remead ; 
The  last,  Sad  cape-stane  of  his  woes  ; 

Poor  Mailie's  dead  1 

It's  no  the  loss  o*  warl's  gear, 
That  could  sae  bitter  draw  the  tear, 
Or  mak  our  Bardie,  dowie,  wear 

The  mourning  weed ; 
He's  lost  a  friend  and  neebor  dear, 

In  Mailie  dead. 

Thro'  a*  the  toun  she  trotted  by  him ; 
A  lang  half-mile  she  could  descry  him  ; 
Wi'  kindly  bleat,  when  she  did  spy  him, 

She  ran  wi'  speed  .* 
A  friend  mair  faith fu'  ne'er  cam  nigh  him, 

Than  Mailie  dead. 

I  wat  she  was  a  sheep  o'  sense, 
An'  could  behave  herset  wi'  mense ; 
I'll  say't,  she  never  brak  a  fence, 

Thro'  thievish  greed. 
Our  Bardie,  lanely,  keeps  the  spence 

Sin*  Mailie 's  dead. 
B 


Or,  if  he  wanders  up  the  howe, 

Her  living  image  in  her  yowe 

Comes  bleating  to  him,  owre  the  tcnowe, 

For  bits  o'  bread  ; 
An'  down  the  briny  pearls  rowe 

For  Mailie  dead. 

She  was  nae  get  o'  moorland  tips, 

Wi'  tawted  ket,  an'  hairy  hips  ; 

For  her  forbears  were  brought  in  ships, 

Frae  yont  the  Tweed : 
A  bonier  fleesh  ne'er  cross'd  the  clips 

Than  Mailie's  dead. 

Wae  worth  the  man  wha  first  did  shape 
That  vile,  wanchancie  thing — a  rape ! 
It  maks  guid  fellows  girn  an'  gape, 

Wi'  chokin  dread; 
An'  Robin's  bonnet  wave  wi'  crape, 

For  Mailie  dead. 

O,  a'  ye  Bards  ort  b>onie  Doon  j 
An'  wha  on  Ayr  your  chanters  tune  ! 
Come,  join  the  melancholious  croon 

O'  Robin's  reed ! 
His  heart  will  never  get  aboon ! 

His  Mailie's  dead! 


34 


TO  JAMES  SMITH. 


TO  JAMES  SMITH. 

Friendship  !  mysterious  cement  of  the  soul! 
Sweet' ner  of  Life,  and  solder  of  Society  1 
I  owe  thee  tuuch.  Blair. 


Dear  Smith,  the  sleeest,  paukie  thief, 
That  e'er  attempted  stealth  or  rief, 
Ye  surely  hae  some  warlock-breef 

Owre  human  hearts ; 
For  ne'er  a  bosom  yet  was  prief 

Against  your  arts. 

For  me,  I  swear  by  sun  an*  moon, 
And  ev'ry  star  that  blinks  aboon, 
Ye've  cost  me  twenty  pair  o'  shoon 

Just  gaun  to  see  you ; 
And  ev'ry  ither  pair  that's  done, 

Mair  taen  I'm  wi'  you. 

That  auld,  capricious  carlin,  Nature, 
To  mak  amends  for  scrimpit  stature, 
She's  turn'd  you  aff,  a  human  creature 

On  her  first  plan, 
And  in  her  freaks,  on  ev'ry  feature, 

She's  wrote,  'The  Man.' 

Just  now  I've  taen  the  fit  o'  rhyme, 
My  barmie  noddle's  working  prime, 
My  fancie  yerkit  up  sublime 

Wi'  hasty  summon : 
Hae  ye  a  leisure-moment's  time 

To  hear  what's  comin  ? 

Some  rhyme,  a  neebor's  name  to  lash  ; 
Some  rhyme  (vain  thought !)  for  needfu' 

cash  ; 
Some  rhyme  to  court  the  countra  clash, 

An'  raise  a  din  ; 
For  me,  an  aim  I  never  fash  ; 

I  rhyme  for  fun. 

The  star  that  rules  my  luckless  lot, 

Has  fated  me  the  russet  coat, 

An'  damn'd  my  fortune  to  the  groat ; 

But,  in  requit, 
Has  blest  me  with  a  random  shot 

O'  countra  wit 


This  while  my  notion's  taen  a  sklent, 
To  try  my  fate  in  guid,  black  prent ; 
But  still  the  mair  I'm  that  way  bent, 

Something  cries, '  Hoolie ! 
I  red  you,  honest  man,  tak  tent ! 

Ye'll  shaw  your  folly. 

'  There's  ither  poets,  much  your  betters, 
Far  seen  in  Greek,  deep  men  o'  letters, 
Hae  thought  they  had  ensured  their 
debtors, 

A'  future  ages ; 
Now  moths  deform  in  shapeless  tatters, 

Their  unknown  pages. ' 

Then  farewel  hopes  o'  laurel-boughs, 
To  garland  my  poetic  brows  ! 
Henceforth  I'll  rove  where  busy  ploughs 

Are  whistling  thrang, 
An'  teach  the  lanely  heights  an'  howes 

My  rustic  sang. 

I'll  wander  on,  wi'  tentless  heed 
How  never-halting  moments  speed, 
Till  fate  shall  snap  the  brittle  thread ; 

Then,  all  unknown, 
I'll  lay  me  with  th'  inglorious  dead, 

Forgot  and  gone  ! 

But  why  o'  Death  begin  a  tale  ? 
Just  now  we're  living  sound  an'  hale  ; 
Then  top  and  maintop  crowd  the  sail, 

Heave  Care  o'er  side  ! 
And  large,  before  Enjoyment's  gale, 

Let's  tak  the  tide. 

This  life,  sae  far's  I  understand, 

Is  a'  enchanted  fairy-land, 

Where  pleasure  is  the  magic  wand, 

That,  wielded  right, 
Mftks  hours  like  minutes,  hand  in  hand, 

Dance  by  fu'  light. 


TO  JAMES  SMITH. 


3S 


The  magic  wand  then  let  us  wield  : 
For,  ance  that  five-an' -forty's  speel'd, 
See,  crazy,  weary,  joyless  Eild, 

Wi'  wrinkl'd  face, 
Comes  hostin,  hirplin  owre  the  field, 

Wi'  creepin  pace. 

When  ance  life's  day  draws  near  the 

gloamin, 
Then  fareweel  vacant  careless  roamin  ; 
An'  fareweel  cheerfu'  tankards  foamin, 

An'  social  noise ; 
An*  fareweel  dear  deluding  woman, 

The  joy  of  joys ! 

O  life  !  hdw  pleasant  in  thy  morning, 
Young  Fancy's  rays  the  hills  adorning 
Cold-pausing  Caution's  lesson  scorningL 

We  frisk  away, 
Like  schoolboys,  at  th'  expected  warning, 

To  joy  and  play. 

We  wander  there,  we  wander  here, 
We  eye  the  rose  upon  the  brier, 
Unmindful  that  the  thorn  is  near, 

Among  the  leaves : 
And  tho'  the  puny  wound  appear, 

Short  while  it  grieves. 

Some,  lucky,  find  a  flow'ry  spot, 
For  which  they  never  toil'd  nor  swat 
They  drink  the  sweet  and  eat  the  fat, 

But  care  or  pain ; 
And,  haply,  eye  the  barren  hut 

With  high  dfcdain. 

With  steady  aim,  some  Fortune  chase ; 
Keen  hope  does  ev'ry  sinew  brace ; 
Thro'  fair,  thro'  foul,  they  urge  the  race, 

And  seize  the  prey ; 
Then  canie,  in  some  cozie  place, 

They  close  the  day. 

And  others,  like  your  humble  servan', 
Poor  wights !  nae  rules  nor  roads  observin, 
To  right  or  left,  eternal  swervin, 

They  zig-zag  on ; 
Till  curst  with  age,  obscure  an'  starvin, 

They  aften  groan. 


Alas  !  what  bitter  toil  an'  straining — 
But  truce  wi'  peevish,  poor  complaining ! 
Is  Fortune's  fickle  Luna  waning  ? 

E'en  let  her  gang  ! 
Beneath  what  light  she  has  remaining, 

Let's  sing  our  sang. 

My  pen  I  here  fling  to  the  door. 

And  kneel,   '  Ye  Pow'rs  f  and  warm 

implore, 
■  Tho'  I  should  wander  Terra  o'er, 

In  all  her  climes, 
Grant  me  but  this,  I  ask  no  more, , 

Ay  rowth  o'  rhymes. 

'  Gie  dreeplng  roasts  to  countra  Lairds, 
Till  icicles  hing  frae  their  beards ; 
Gie  fine  braw  claes  to  fine  Life-guards, 

And  Maids  of  Honour ; 
And  yill  an'  whisky  gie  to  Cairds, 

Until  they  sconner. 

*  A  Title,  Dempster  merits  it ; 
A  Garter  gie  to  Willie  Pitt ; 

Gie  Wealth  to  same  be-ledger'd  Cit, 
In  cent  per  cent ; 

But  gie  me  real,  sterling  Wit, 
And  I'm  content 

*  While  Ye  are  pleased  to  keep  me  liale, 
I'll  sit  down  o'er  my  scanty  meal, 
Be't  water-brose,  or  muslin-kail, 

Wi'  cheerfu'  face, 
As  lang's  the  Muses  dinna  fail 
To  say  the  grace.* 

An  anxious  e'e  I  never  throws 
Behint  my  lug,  or  by  my  nose ; 
I  jouk  beneath  Misfortune's  blows 

As  weel's  I  may; 
Sworn  foe  to  Sorrow,  Care,  and  Prose, 

I  rhyme  away. 

O  ye  douce  folk,  that  live  by  rule, 
Grave,  tideless-blooded,  calm,  and  cool, 
Compar'd  wi*  you — O  fool !  fool !  fool  J 

How  much  unlike ! 
Your  hearts  are  just  a  standing  pool, 

Your  lives,  a  dvke ! 


36 


A  DREAM. 


Nae  hair-brain'd  sentimental  traces, 
In  your  unletter'd,  nameless  faces  1 
In  arioso  trills  and  graces 

Ye  never  stray, 
But  gravissimo,  solemn  basses 

Ye  hum  away. 

Ye  are  sae  grave,  nae  doubt  ye're  wise ; 

Nae  ferly  tho'  ye  do  despise 

The  hairum-scairum,  ram-stam  boys, 


The  rattlin  squad : 
I  see  you  upward  cast  your  eyes — 
Ye  ken  the  road. — 

Whilst  I  -but  I  shall  haud  me  there- 
Wi'  you  I'll  scarce  gang  ony  where — 
Then,  Jamie,  I  shall  say  nae  mair, 

But  quat  my  sang, 
Content  with  You  to  mak  a  pair, 

Whare'er  I  gang. 


A  DREAM. 

Thoughts,  words,  and  deeds,  the  Statute  Mantes  with  reason  ; 
But  surely  Dreams  were  ne'er  indicted  Treason. 

fOn  reading,  in  the  public  papers,  the  Laureate's  Ode,  with  the  other  parade  of  June  4,  1766, 
the  author  was  no  sooner  dropt  asleep,  than  he  imagined  himself  transported  to  the  Birth-day 
Levee  ;  and,  in  his  dreaming  fancy,  made  the  following  Address.] 


Guid-mornin  to  your  Majesty  ! 

May  heaven  augment  your  blisses, 
On  ev'ry  new  birth-day  ye  see  ; 

A  humble  Bardie  wishes  ! 
My  Bardship  here,  at  your  Levee, 

On  sic  a  day  as  this  is, 
Is  sure  an  uncouth  sight  to  see, 

Amang  thae  Birth-day  dresses 
Sae  fine  this  day. 

T  see  ye're  complimented  thrang, 

By  mony  a  lord  an'  lady  ; 
'  God  save  the  King  !"sa  cuckoo  sang 

That's  unco  easy  said  ay  ; 
The  Poets,  too,  a  venal  gang, 

WY  rhymes  weel-turn'd  and  ready, 
Wad  gar  you  trow  ye  ne'er  do  wrang, 

But  ay  unerring  steady, 

On  sic  a  day. 

For  me  :  before  a  Monarch's  face, 

Ev'n  there  I  winna  flatter ; 
For  neither  pension,  post,  nor  place, 

Ami  your  humble  debtor  : 
So.  nae  reflection  on  Your  Grace, 

Your  Kingship  to  bespatter  ; 
There's  monie  waur  been  o'  the  Race, 

And  aiblins  ane  been  better 

Than  You  this  day. 


Tis  very  true,  my  sovereign  King, 

My  skill  may  weel  be  doubted : 
But  Facts  are  cheels  that  winna  ding, 

An'  downa  be  disputed : 
Your  Royal  nest,  beneath  your  wing, 

Is  e'en  right  reft  an'  clouted, 
And  now  the  third  part  of  the  string, 

An'  less,  will  gang  about  it 

Than  did  ae  day. 

Far  be't  frae  me  that  I  aspire 

To  blame  your  legislation, 
Or  say,  ye  wisdom  want,  or  fire, 

To  rule  this  mighty  nation  ; 
But,  faith  !  I  muckle  doubt,  my  Sire, 

Ye've  trusted  Ministration 
To  chaps,  wha,  in  a  barn  or  byre, 

Wad  better  fill'd  their  station 

Than  courts  yon  day. 

And  now  ye've  gien  auld  Britain  peace, 

Her  broken  shins  to  plaister  ; 
Your  sair  taxation  does  her  fleece 

Till  she  has  scarce  a  tester ; 
For  me,  thank  God,  my  life's  a  lease 

Nae  bargain  wearing  faster, 
Or,  faith  !  I  fear  that  with  the  geese, 

I  shortly  boost  to  pasture 

I'  the  craft  some  day. 


A  DREAM. 


37 


I'm  no  mistrusting  Willie  Pitt, 

When  taxes  he  enlarges, 
(An'  Will's  a  true  guid  fallow's  get, 

A  name  not  envy  spairges,) 
That  he  intends  to  pay  your  debt, 

An*  lessen  a'  your  charges  ; 
But,  God's  sake  !  let  nae  saving-fit 

Abridge  your  bonie  barges 

An'  boats  this  day. 

Adieu,  my  Liege  *  may  freedom  geek 

Beneath  your  high  protection  ; 
An'  may  Ye  rax  Corruption's  neckr 

And  gie  her  for  dissection  ! 
But  since  I'm  here,  I'll  no  neglect, 

In  loyal,  true  affection, 
To  pay  your  Queen,  with  due  respect, 

My  fealty  an'  subjection 

This  great  Birth-day. 

Hail,  Majesty  most  Excellent ! 

While  nobles  strive  to  please  Ye, 
Will  Ye  accept  a  compliment 

A  simple  Poet  gies  Ye  ? 
Thae  bonny  bairntime  Heav'n  has  lent, 

Still  higher  may  they  heeze  Ye 
In  bliss,  till  Fate  some  day  is  sent, 

For  ever  to  release  Ye 

Frae  care  that  day. 

For  you,  young  Potentate  o'  Wales, 

I  tell  your  Highness  fairly, 
Down  Pleasure's  stream,  wi'  swellingsails 

I'm  tauld  ye're  driving  rarely ; 
5ut  some  day  ye  may  gnaw  your  nails, 

An'  curse  your  folly  sairly, 
That  ere  ye  brak  Diana's  pales, 

Or  rattl'd  dice  wi'  Charlie, 

By  night  or  day. 

Yet  aft  a  ragged  cowte's  been  known 

To  mak  a  noble  aiver ; 
Sae,  ye  may  doucely  fill  a  Throne, 

For  a'  their  clish-ma?claver : 


There,  Him  at  Agincourt  wha  shone, 
Few  better  were  or  braver ; 

And  yet,  ,wi'  funny,  queer  Sir  John, 
He  was  an  unco  shaver 

For  monie  a  day. 

For  you,  right  rev'rend  Osnaburg, 

Nane  sets  the  lawn-sleeve  sweeter, 
Altho'  a  ribban  at  your  lug 

Wad  been  a  dress  completer : 
As  ye  disown  yon  paughty  dog 

That  bears  the  Keys  of  Peter, 
Then,  swith  !  an'  get  a  wife  to  hug, 

Or,  trouth  !  ye'U  stain  the  Mitre 
Some  luckless  day. 

Young,  royal  Tarry  Breeks,  I  learn, 

Ye've  lately  come  athwart  her ; 
A  glorious  galley,  stem  and  stern, 

Weel  rigg'd  for  Venus'  barter ; 
But  first  hang  out,  that  she'll  discern 

Your  hymeneal  charter, 
Then  heave  aboard  your  grapple  aim, 

An',  large  upon  her  quarter, 

Come  full  that  day. 

Ye,  lastly,  bonie  blossoms  a', 

Ye  royal  Lasses  dainty, 
Heav'n  mak  you  guid  as  weel  as  braw, 

An'  gie  you  lads  a-plenty  : 
But  sneer  na  British  boys  awa', 

For  Kings  are  unco  scant  ay  , 
An'  German  Gentles  are  but  sma', 

They're  better  just  than  want  ay 
On  ome  day. 

God  bless  you  a' !  consider  now 

Ye're  unco  muckle  dautet , 
But,  e'er  the  course  o'  life  be  through. 

It  may  be  bitter  sautet 
An'  I  hae  seen  their  coggie  fou, 

That  yet  hae  tarrow?t  at  it 
But  or  the  day  was  done,  I  trow, 

The  laggen  they  hae  clautet 

Fu'  clean  that  day. 


38 


THE  VISION. 


THE    VISION. 


DUAN   FIRST. 


The  sun  had  clos'd  the  winter  day, 
The  Curlers  quat  their  roarin  play, 
An'  hunger' d  Maukin  taen  her  way 

To  kail-yards  green, 
While  faithless  snaws  ilk  step  betray 

Whare  she  has  been. 

The  thresher's  weary  flingin-tree 
The  lee-lang  day  had  tired  me ; 
And  whan  the  day  had  clos'd  his  e'e, 

Far  P  the  west, 
Ben  i'  the  Spence,  right  pensivelie, 

I  gaed  to  rest. 

There,  lanely,  by  the  ingle-cheek, 
I  sat  and  ey'd  the  spewing  reek, 
That  fill'd,  wi'  hoast-provoking  smeek, 

The  auld,  clay  biggin  ; 
An*  heard  the  restless  rattans  squeak 

About  the  riggin. 

All  in  this  mottie,  misty  clime, 
I  backward  mus'd  on  wasted  time, 
How  I  had  spent  my  youth fu'  prime, 

An'  done  nae-thing, 
But  stringin  blethers  up  in  rhyme, 

For  fools  to  sing. 

Had  I  to.guid  advice  but  harkit, 
I  might,  by  this,  hae  led  a  market, 
Or  strutted  in  a  bank,  and  clarkit 

My  cash-account : 
While  here,  half-mad,  half-fed,  half-sarkit, 

Is  a'  th'  amount 


I-  started,  mutt'ring,  blockhead  !  coof ! 
And  heav'd  on  high  my  waukit  loof, 
To  swear  by  a'  yon  starry  roof, 

Or  some  rash  aith, 
That  I,  henceforth,  would  be  rhyme-proof 

Till  my  last  breath— 


When  click !   the  string  the  snick  did" 

draw  ; 
And  jee  !  .the  door  gaed  to  the  wa' ; 
And  by  my  ingle-lowe  I  saw, 

Now  bleezin  bright, 
A  tight,  outlandish  Hizzie,  braw, 

Come  full  in  sight. 

Ye  need  na  doubt,  I  held  my  whisht ; 
The  infant  aith,  half-form'd,  wascrusht; 
I  glowr'd  as  eerie 's  I'd  been  dusht 

In  some  wild  glen  ; 
When  sweet,  like  modest  worth,  she 
blusht, 

And  stepped  ben. 

Green,  slender,  leaf-clad  holly-boughs 
Were  twisted,  gracefu',  round  her  brows, 
I  took  her  for  some  Scottish  Muse, 

By  that  same  token ; 
And  come  to  stop  these  reckless  vows,. 

WTould  soon  been  broken. 

A  ■  hair-brain'd,  sentimental  trace, 
Was  strongly  marked  in  her  face  ; 
A  wildly-witty,  rustic  grace 

Shone  full  upon  her ; 
Her  eye,  ev'n  turn'd  on  empty  space, 

Beam'dkeen  with  Honour. 

Down  flow'd  her  robe,  a  tartan  sheen, 
Till  half  a  leg  was  scrimply  seen  ; 
And  such  a  leg  !  my  bonie  Jean 

Could  only  peer  it ; 
Sae  straught,  sae  taper,  tight,  and  clean, 

Nane  else  came  near  it... 

Her  mantle  large,  of  greenish  hue, 
My  gazing  wonder  chiefly  drew  ; 
Deep  lights  and  shades,  bold-mingling, 
threw 

A  lustre  grand  ; 
And  seem'd,  to  my  astonish' d  view 

A  well-known  Land. 


THE  VISION. 


39 


Here,  rivers  in  the  sea  were  lost ; 
There,  mountains  to  the  skies  were  tost : 
Here,  tumbling  billows  mark'd  the  coast 

With  surging  foam  \ 
There,  distant  shone  Art's  lofty  boast, 

The  lordly  dome, 

Here,  Doon  pour'd  down  his  far-fetch'd- 

floods ; 
There,  well-fed  Irwine  stately  thuds, 
Auld  hermit  Ayr  staw  thro'  his  woods, 

On  to  the  shore ; 
And  many  a  lesser  torrent  scuds, 

With  seeming  roar. 

Low,  in  a  sandy  valley  spread. 

An  ancient  Borough  rear'd  her  head ; 

Still,  as  in  Scottish  story  read, 

She  boasts  a.  Race, 
To  ev'ry  nobler  virtue  bred, 

And  polish'd  grace. 

By  stately  tow'r  or  palace  fair, 

Or  ruins  pendent  in  the  air, 

Bold  stems  of  Heroes,  here  and  there, 

I  could  discern ; 
Some  seem'd  to  muse,  some  seem'd  to 
dare, 

With  feature  stern. 

My  heart  did  glowing  transport  feel, 

To  see  a  Race  heroic- wheel, 

And  brandish  round  the  deep-dy'd  steel 

In  sturdy  blows ; 
While  back-recoiling  seem'd  to  reel 

Their  Suthron  foes. 


His  Country's  .Saviour,  mark  him 

well ! 
Bold  Richardton's  heroic  swell ; 
The  Chief  on  Sark  who  glorious  fell, 

In  high  command ; 
And  He  whom  ruthless  fates  expel 

His  native  land. 

There,  where  a  sceptr'd  Pictish  shade 
Stalk'd  round  his  ashes  lowly  laid, 
I  mark'd  a  martial  Race,  pourtray'd 

In  colours  strong ; 
Bold,'  soldier-featur'd,  undismay'd 

They  strode  along. 

Thro*  many  a  wild,  romantic  grove, 
Near  many  a  hermit-fancy'd  cove, 
(Fit  haunts  for  Friendship  or  for  Love 

In  musing  mood,) 
An  aged  Judge,  I  saw  him  rove, 

Dispensing  good. 

With  deep-struck  reverential  awe 
The  learned  Sire  and  Son  I  saw, 
To  Nature's  God  and*  Nature's  law 

They  gave  their  lore  : 
This,  all  its  source  and  end  to  draw ; 

Thatt  to  adore. 

Brydon's  brave  Ward  I  well  could  spy, 
Beneath  old  Scotia's  smiling  eye  ; 
Who  call'd  on  Fame,  low  standing  by, 

To  hand  him  on, 
Where  many  a  Patriot  name  on  high, 

And  Hero  shone. 


DUAN  SECOND. 


With  musing-deep,  astonish'd  stare, 
I  view'd  the  heavenly-seeming  Fair ; 
A  whisp'ring  throb  did  witness  bear, 

Of  kindred  sweet, 
When  with  an  elder  Sister's  air 

She  did  me  greet. 

•  All  hail !  my  own  inspired  Bard  ! 
In  me  thy  native  Muse  regard  ! 
Nor  longer  mourn  thy  fate  is  hard, 

Thus  poorly  low  ! 
I  come  to  give  thee  such  reward 

As  we  bestow. 


■  Know,  the  great  Genius  of  this  land 
Has  many  a  light,  aerial  band, 
Who,  all  beneath  his  high  command, 

Harmoniously, 
As  Arts  or  Arms  they  understand, 

Their  labours  ply. 

*  They  Scotia's  Race  among  them  share ; 
Some  fire  the  Soldier  on  to  dare ; 
Some  rouse  the  Patriot  up  to  bare 

Corruption's  heart : 
Some  teach  the  Bard,  a  darling  care, 

The  tuneful  art. 


40 


THE  VISION. 


1  'Mong  swelling  floods  of  reeking  gore, 
They,  ardent,  kindling  spirits  pour ; 
Or,  'mid  the  venal  Senate's  roar. 

They,  sightless,  stand, 
To  mend  the  honest  Patriot  lore, 

And  grace  the  hand. 

*  And  when  the  Bard,  or  hoary  Sage, 
Charm  or  instruct  the  future  age, 
They  bind  the  wild,  Poetic  rage 

In  energy, 
Or  point  the  inconclusive  page 

Full  on  the  eye. 

'  Hence,  Fullarton,the  brave  and  young ; 
Hence,  Dempster's  zeal -inspired  tongue; 
Hence,  sweet  harmonious  Beattie  sung 

His  "  Minstrel  lays  ; " 
Or  tore,  with  .noble  ardour  stung, 

The  Sceptic's  bays. 

i  To  lower  orders  are  assign'd 
The  humbler  ranks  of  human-kind, 
The  rustic  Bard,  the  lab'ring  Hind, 

The  Artisan;  • 
.All  choose,  as  various  they're  inclin'd, 

The  various  man. 


*  When  yellow  waves  the  heavy  grain, 
The  threat'nmg  storm  some  strongly  rein ; 
Some  teach  to  meliorate  the  plain 

With  tillage-skill ; 
And  some  instruct  the  Shepherd-train, 

Blythe  o'er  the  hill. 

1  Some  hint  the  Lover's  harmless  wile  ; 
Some  grace  the  Maiden's  artless  smile  ; 
Some  soothe  the  Lab'rer's  weary  toil, 

For  humble  gains, 
And  make  his  cottage-scenes  beguile 

His  cares  and  pains. 

1  Some,  bounded  to  a  district-space, 
Explore  at  large  Man's  infant  race, 
To  mark  the  embryotic  trace 

Of  rustic  Bard ; 
And  careful  note  each  op'ning  grace, 

A  guide  and  guard. 


4  Of  these  am  I — Coila  my  name ; 
And  this  district  as  mine  I  claim, 
Where  once  the  Campbells,  chiefs  of 
fame, 

Held  ruling  pow'r : 
I  mark'd  thy  embryo-tuneful  flame, 

Thy  natal  hour. 

c  With  future  hope,  I  oft  would  gaze, 
Fond,  on  thy  little  early  ways, 
Thy  rudely- caroll'd,  chiming  phrase, 

In  uncouth  rhymes, 
Fir'd  at  the  simple,  artless  lays 

Of  other  times.* 

'  I  saw  thee  seek  the  sounding  shore, 
Delighted  with  the  dashing  roar ; 
Or  when  the  North  his  fleecy  store 

Drove  thro?  the  sky, 
I  saw  grim  Nature's  visage  hoar 

Struck  thy  young  eye. 

'  Or  when  the  deep  green-mantl'd  Earth- 
Warm-cherish'd  ev'ry  flow'ret's  birth, 
And  joy  and  music  pouring  forth 

In  ev'ry  grove, 
I  saw  thee  eye  the  gen'ral  mirth 

With  boundless  love. 

1  When  ripen'd  fields,  and  azure  skies, 
Call'd  forth  the  Reaper's  rustling  noise, 
I  saw  thee  leave  their  ev'ning  joys, 

And  lonely  stalk, 
To  vent  thy  bosom's  swelling  rise 

In  pensive  walk. 

'When  youthful  Love,  warm-blushing 

strong, 
Keen-shivering  shot  thy  nerves  along, 
Those  accents,  grateful  to  thy  tongue, 
Th'  adored  Name, 

I  taught  thee  how  to  pour  in  song, 

To  soothe  thy  flame. 

I I  saw  thy  pulse's  maddening  play, 
Wild  send  thee  Pleasure's  devious  way, 
Misled  by  Fancy's  meteor  ray, 

By  Passion  driven ; 
But  yet  the  light  that  led  astray 

Was  light  from  Heaven, 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  UNCO  GUID. 


4* 


*I  taught  thy  manners-painting  strains, 
The  loves,  the  ways  of  simple  swains, 
Till  now,  o'er  all  my  wide  domains 

Thy  fame  extends  ; 
A.nd  some,  the  pride  of  Coila's  plains, 

Become  thy  friends. 

•  Thou  canst  not  learn,  nor  can  I  show, 
To  paint  with  Thomson's  landscape- 
glow  ; 

Or  wake  the  bosom-melting  throe, 
With  Shenstone's  art ; 

Or  pour,  with  Gray,  the  moving  flow 
Warm  on  the  heart. 

•  Yet,  all  beneath  th'  unrivall'd  rose, 
The  lowly  daisy  sweetly  blows  ; 
Tho'  large  the  forest's  monarch  throws 

His  army  shade, 
Yet  green  the  juicy  hawthorn  grows, 
Adown  the  glade. 


*  Then  never  murmur  nor  repine  j 
Strive  in  thy  humble  sphere  to  shine  ; 
And  trust  me,  not  Potosi's  mine, 

Nor  King's  regard, 
Can  give  a  bliss  o'ermatching  thine, 

A  rustic  Bard. 


*  To  give  my  counsels  all.  in  one, 
Thy  tuneful  flame  still  careful  fan  ; 
Preserve  the  dignity  of  Man, 

With  Soul  erect ; 
And  trust,  the  Universal  Plan 
Will  all  protect 

*  And  wear  thou  this ' — she  solemn  said, 
And  bound  the  Holly  round  my  head  : 
The  polish' d  leaves,  and  berries  red, 

Did  rustling  play ; 
And,  like  a  passing  thought,  she  fled 
In  light  away. 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  UNCO  GUID,  OR  THE  RIGIDLY  RIGHTEOUS. 


My  son,  these  maxims  make  a  ntle, 

And  lump  them  aye  the  git  her; 
The  Rigid  Righteous  is  a  fool, 

The  Rigid  Wise  anither: 
The  cleanest  com  that  e'er  was  digkt, 

May  hae  some  pyles  o'  caff  in  ; 
So  nfer  a  fellow-creature  slight 

For  random  fits  d  daffin. 

Solomon.— Eccles.  vii  16. 


O  YE  wha  are  sae  guid  yoursel, 

Sae  pious  and  sae  holy, 
Ye've  nought  to  do  but  mark  and  tell 

Your  Neebour's  fauts  and  folly  ! 
Whase  life  is  like  a  weel-gaun  mill, 

Supply' d  wi'  store  6>  water,  % 
The  heapet  happer's  ebbing  still, 

And  still  the  clap  plays  clatter. 

Hear  me,  ye  venerable  Core, 

As  counsel  for'poor  mortals, 
That  frequent  pass  douce  Wisdom's  door, 

For  glaikit  Folly's  portals', 
I,  for  their  thoughtless,  careless  sakes, 

Would  here  propone  defences, 
Their  donsie  tricks,  their  black  mjstakes, 

Their  failings  and  mischances.' 


Ye  see  your  state  wi*  theirs  compar'd, 

And  shudder  at  the  hiffer, 
But  cast  a  moment's  fair  regard, 

What  maks  the  mighty  differ; 
Discount  what  scant  occasion  gave 

That  purity  ye  pride  in, 
And  (what's  aft  mair  than  a'  the  lave) 

Your  better  art  o'  hiding. 

Think,  when  vour  castigated  pulse 

Gies  now  and  then  a  wallop, 
What  raging  must  his  veins  convulse, 

That  still  eternal  gallop . 
Wi'  wind  and  tide  fair  i'  your  tail, 

Right  on  ye  said  vour  sea-way ; 
But  in  the  teeth  o'  baith  to  sail, 

It  maks  an  unco  leeway. 


4* 


TAM  SAMSON'S  ELEGY. 


See  Social  life  and  Glee  sit  down, 

Then  gently  scan  your  brother  Man, 

All  joyous  and  unthinking, 

Still  gentler  sister  Woman ; 

Till,  quite  transmugrify'd,  they're  grown 

Tho'  they  may  gang  a  kennin  wrong, 

Debauchery  and  Drinking  : 

To  step  aside,  is.  human  : 

O  would  they  stay  to  calculate 

One  point  must  still  be  greatly  dark, 

Th'  eternal  consequences  ; 

The  moving  Why  they  do  it ; 

Or  your  more  dreaded  hell  to  state, 

And  just  as  lamely  can  ye  mark, 

Damnation  of  expenses ! 

How  far  perhaps  they  rue  it. 

Ye  high,  exalted,  virtuous  Dames, 

Who  made  the  heart,  'tis  He  alone 

Ty'd  up  in  godly  laces, 

Decidedly  can  try  us, 

Before  ye  gie  poor  Frailty  names, 

He  knows  each  chord  its  various  tone, 

Suppose  a  change  o'  cases  ; 

Each  spring  its  various  bias  : 

A  dear  lov'd  lad,  convenience  snug, 

Then  at  the  balance  let's  be  mute, 

A  treacherous  inclination — 

We  never  can  adjust  it ; 

But,  let  me  whisper  i'  your  lug, 

What's  done  we  partly  may  compute, 

Ye're  aiblins  nae  temptation. 

But  know  not  what's  resisted. 

TAM  SAMSON'S  ELEGY. 

An  honest  man's  the  noblest  work  of  Cod.— Pope. 


Has  auld  Kilmarnock  seen  the  Deil  ? 
Or  great  M'Kinlay  thrawn  his  heel? 
Or  Robinson  again  grown  weel, 

To  preach  an'  read  ? 
1  Na,  waur  than  a' ! '  cries  ilka  chiel, 

*  Tarn  Samson's  dead  V 

Kilmarnock  lang  may  grunt  an'  grane, 
An'  sigh,  an'  sab,  an'  greet  her  lane, 
An'  deed  her  bairns,  man,  wife,  an'  wean, 

In  mourning  weed; 
To  Death,  she's  dearly  paid  the  kane, 

Tarn  Samson 's  dead  J 

The  Brethren  o'  the  mystic  level 
May  hing  their  head  in  woefu'  bevel, 
While  by  their  nose  the  tears  will  revel, 

Like  ony  bead  ; 
Death's  gien  the  Lodge  an  unco  devel, 

Tarn  Samson's  dead  ! 

'When  Winter  muffles  up  his  cloak, 
And  binds  the  mire  like  a  rock  ; 
When  to  the  loughs  the  Curlers  flock 

Wi'  gleesome  speed, 
Wha  will  they  station  at  the  coch 

Tarn  Samson 's  dead  ? 


He  was  the  king  o'  a*  the  Core, 
To  guard,  or  draw,  or  wick  a  bore, 
Or  up  the  rink  like  Jehu  roar 

In  time  o'  need  ; 
But  now  he  lags  on  Death's  hog-score. 

Tarn  Samson's  dead! 

Now  safe  the  stately  Sawmont  sail, 
And  Trouts  bedropp'd  wi'  crimson  hail, 
And  Ee'ia  weel  kend  for  souple  tail, 

And  Geds  for  greed, 
Since  dark  in  Death's  fish-creel  we  wail 

Tam  Samson  dead  I 

Rejoice,  ye  birring  Paitricks  a' ; 

Ye  cootie  Moorcocks,  crousely  craw ; 

Ye  Maukins,  cock  your  fud  fit'  braw, 

Withouten  dread ; 
Your  mortal  Fae  is  now  awa', 

Tam  Samson's  dead ! 

That  woefu'  morn  be  ever  mourn'd 
Saw  him  in  shootin  graith  adorn'd, 
While  pointers  round  impatient  burn'd, 

Frae  couples  freed ; 
But,  Och  !  he  gaed  and  ne'er  return'd  ! 

Tam  Samson's  dead  ! 


TAM  SAMSON* S  ELEGY. 


43 


In  vain  auld  age  his  body  batters  ; 
In  vain  the  gout  his  ancles  fetters  ; 
In  vain  the  burns  came  down  like  waters, 

An  acre  braid ! 
Now  ev'ry  auld  wife,  greetin,  clatters, 

*  Tarn  Samson 's  dead  ! ' 

Owre  mony  a  weary  hag  he  limpit, 
An'  ay  the  tither  shot  he  thumpit, 
Till  coward  Death  behind  him  jumpit 

Wi'  deadly  feide  ; 
Now  he  proclaims,  wi'  tout  o'  trumpet, 

Tarn  Samson's  dead  ! 

When  at  his  heart  he  felt  the  dagger, 
He  reel'd  his  wonted  bottle-swagger, 
But  yet  he  drew  the  mortal  trigger 

Wi'  weel-aim'd  heed ; 
*  Lord,  five ! '  he  cry'd,   an'  owre  did 
stagger ; 

Tarn  Samson's  dead ! 

Ilk  hoary  hunter  mourn'd  a  brither ; 
Ilk  sportsman  youth  bemoan'd  a  father ; 
Yon  auld  gray  stane,  amang  the  heather, 

Marks  out  his  head, 
vVhare  Burns  has  wrote,  in  rhyming 
blether, 

4  Tam  Samson's  dead  ! 

There,  low  he  lies,  in  lasting  rest ; 
Perhaps  upon  his  mould'ring  breast 


Some  spitefu'  muirfowl  bigs  her  nesti 
To  hatch  and  breed  ; 

Alas  !  nae  mair  he'll  them  molest ! 

Tam  Samson's  dead ! 

When  August  winds  the  heather  wave, 
And  sportsmen  wander  by  yon  grave, 
Three  vollies  let  his  mem'ry  crave     [ 

O'  pouther  an'  lead, 
Till  Echo  answer  frae  her  cave, 

Tam  Samson 's  dead ! 

Heav'n  rest  his  saul,  whare'er  he  be  ! 
Is  th'  wish  o'  mony  mae  than  me : 
He  had  twa  faults,  or  maybe  three, 

Yet  what  remead  ? 
Ae  social,  honest  man  want  we : 

Tam  Samson's  dead ! 

THE  EPITAPH. 

Tam  Samson's  weel-worn  clay  here  lies, 
Ye  canting  zealots,  spare  him  ! 

If  honest  worth  in  heaven  rise, 
Ye'll  mend  or  ye  win  near  him. 

PER  CONTRA. 

Go,  Fame,  an'  canter  like  a  filly 
Thro'  a'  the  streets  an'  neuks  o'  Killie, 
Tell  ev'ry  social,  honest  bilhe 

To  cease  his  grievin, 
Foryet,  unskaith'd  by  Death's  gleg  gullie, 

Tam  Samson  Vlivin ! 


44 


HALLOWEEN. 


HALLOWEEN* 


[The  following  Poem  will,  by  many  readers,  be  well  enough  understood  ;  but  for  the  sake  of  those 
who  are  unacquainted  with  the  manners  and  traditions  of  the  country  where  the  scene  is  cast,  notes 
are  added,  to  give  some  account  of  the  principal  charms  and  spells  of  that  night,  so  big  with 
prophecy  to  the  peasantry  in  the  west  of  Scotland.  The  passion  of  prying  into  futurity  makes  a 
striking  part  of  the  history  of  human  nature,  in  its  rude  state,  in  all  ages  and  nations  ;  and  it  may 
be  some  entertainment  to  a  philosophic  mind,  if  any  such  should  honour  the  Author  with  a  perusal, 
to  see  the  remains  of  it,  among  the  more  unenlightened  in  our  own.     R.  B.] 

Yes!  let  the  rich  deride,  the  proud  disdain, 
The  simple  pleasures  of  the  lowly  tram; 
To  me  more. dear ;  congenial  to  my  heart. 
One  native  charm,  than  all  the  gloss  of  art. 

Goldsmith. 


Upon  that  night,  when  Fairies  light 

On  Cassilis  Downans  t  dance, 
Or  owre  the  lays,  in  splendid  blaze, 

On  sprightly  coursers  prance; 
Or  for  Colean  the  rout  is  ta'en, 

Beneath  the  moon's  pale  beams ; 
There,  up  the  Cove,+  to  stray  an'  rove 

Amang  the  rocks  and  streams 

To  sport  that  night ; 

Amang  the  bonie,  winding  banks, 

Where  Doon  rins,  wimplin,  clear, 
Where  Bruce  §  ance  rul'd  the  martial 
ranks, 

An'  shook  his  Carrick  spear, 
Some  merry,  friendly,  countra  folks, 

Together  did  convene, 
To  burn  their  nits,  an'  pbu  their  stocks, 

An'  haud  their  Halloween 

Fu'  blythe  that  night 


The  lasses  feat,  an'  cleanly  neat, 

Mair  braw  than  when  they're  fine  ; 
Their  faces  blythe,  fu'  sweetly  kythe, 

Hearts  leal,  an'  warm,  an'  kin>: 
The  lads  sae  trig,  wi'  wooer-babs, 

Weel  knotted  on  their  garten, 
Some  unco  blate,  an'  some  wi'  gabs, 

Gar  lasses'  hearts  gang  startin 

Whyles  fast  at  night. 

Then,  first  an'  foremost,  thro'  the  kail, 

Their  stocks  ||  maun  a'  be  sought  ance : 
They  steek  their  een,  an'  grape  an'  wale, 

For  muckle  anes,  an'  straught  anes. 
Poor  hav'rel  Will  fell  aff  the  drift, 

An'  wander'd  thro'  the  Bow-kail, 
An'  pou't,  for  want  o'  better  shift, 

A  runt  was  like  a  sow-tail, 

Sae  bow't  that  night. 


*  Is  thought  to  be  a  night  when  witches,  devils,  and  other  mischief-making  beings  are  all 
abroad  on  their  baneful,  midnight  errands;  particularly  those  aerial  pecple,  the  fairies,  are  said, 
on  that  night,  to  hold  a  grand  anniversary.     R.  B. 

t  Certain  little,  romantic,  rocky,  green  hills,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  ancient  seat  of  the 
Earls  of  Cassilis.     R.  13. 

\  A  noted  cavern  near  Colean-house,  called  the  Cove  of  Colean  ;  which,  as  well  as  Cassilis 
Downans,  is  famed  in  country  story  for  being  a  favourite  haunt  of  fairies.     R.  B. 

§  The  famous  family  of  that  name,  the  ancestors  of  Robert,  the  great  deliverer  t>f  his  country, 
were.  Karls  of  Carrick.     R.  B. 

||  The  first  ceremony  of  Halloween  is,  pulling  each  a  stock,  or  plant  of  kail.  They  must  go  out, 
hand  in  hand,  with  eyes  shut,  and  pull  the  first  they  meet  with.  Its  being  big  or  little,  straight  01 
crooked,  is  prophetic  of  the  size  and  shape  of  the  grand  object  of  all  their  spells — the  husband  or 
wife.  If  any  yird,  or  earth,  stick  to  the  root,  that  is  tocher,  or  fortune  :  and  the  taste  of  the  custoch, 
that  is,  the  heart  of  the  stem,  is  indicative  of  the  natural  temper  and  disposition.  Lastly,  the  stems, 
or,  to  give  them  their  ordinary  appellation,  the  runts,  are  placed  somewhere  above  the  head  of  the 
door  ;  and  the  Christian  names  of  the  people  whom  chance  brings  into  the  house,  are,  according  to 
the  priority  of  placing  the  runts,  the  names  in  question.     R.  B. 


HALLOWEEN. 


45 


Then,  straught  or  crooked,  yird  or  nane, 

They  roar  an'  cry  a'  throu'ther  j 
The  vera  wee  things,  toddlin,  rin, 

Wi'  stocks  out-owre  their  shouther ; 
An'  gif  the  custocks  sweet  or  sour, 

Wi'  joctelegs  they  taste  them ; 
Syne  coziely,  aboon  the  door, 

Wi'  cannie  care,  they've  plac'd  them 
To  lie  that  night 

The  lasses  staw  frae  'mang<them  a* 

To  pou  their  stalks  o'  corn ;  * 
But  Rab  slips  out,  an'  jinks  about, 

Behint  the  muckle  thorn  : 
He  grippet  Nejly  hard  an'  fast ; 

Loud  skirl'd  a'  the  lasses  ; 
But  her  tap-pickle  maist  was  lost, 

When  kiutlin  i'  the  fause-houser 
Wi'  him  that  night. 

The  auld  guidwife's  weel-hoordet  nits  t 

Are  round  an'  round  divided, 
An*  monie  lads'  and  lasses'  fates 

Are  there  that  night  decided  : 
Some  kindle,  couthie,  side  by  side, 

An'  burn  thegither  trimly ; 
Some  start  awa,  wi'  saucy  pride, 

An'  jump  out-owre  the  chimlie 

Fu'  high  that  night. 

Jean  slips  in  twa,  wi*  tentie  e'e ; 

Wha  'twas,  she  wadila  tell ; 
But  this  is  Jock,  and  this  is  me, 

She  says  in  to  hersel  : 
He  bleez'd  owre  her,  an'  she  owre  him, 

As  they  wad  never  mair  part ; 
Till  fuff !  he  started  up  the  lum, 

An'  Jean  had  e'en  a  sair  heart 

To  see't  that  night. 


Poor  Willie,  wi'  his  bow-kail  runt, 

Was' brunt  wi'  primsie  Mallie, 
An'  Mary,  nae  doubt,  took  the  drunt, 

To  be  compar'd  to  Willie  : 
Mall's  nit  lap  out,  wi'  pridefu'  fling, 

An'  her  am  fit  it  brunt  it ; 
While  Willie  lap,  an'  swoor  by  jfng, 

'Twas  just  the  way  he  wanted 
To  be  that  night. 

Nell  had  the  fause-house  in  her  min', 

She  pits  .hersel  an'  Rob  in  ; 
In  loving  bleeze  they  sweetly  join, 

Till  white  in  ase  they're  sobbin  : 
Nell's  heart  was  dancin  at  the  view ; 

She  whisper'd  Rob  to  leuk  for't : 
Rob,  stownlins,  prie'd  her  bonnie  mou, 

Fu'  cozie  in  the  neuk  for't, 

Unseen  that  night 

ButMerran  sat  behint  their  backs, 

Her  thoughts  on  Andrew  Bell ; 
$he  lea'es  them  gashin  at  their  cracks, 

An'  slips  out  by  hersel : 
She  thro'  the  yard  the  nearest  taks, 

An'  to  the  kiln  she  goes  then, 
An'  darklins  grapit  for  the  bauks, 

And  in  the  blue-clue  §  throws  then, 
Right  fear't  that  night. 

An'  aye  she  win't,  an'  ay  she  swat, 

I  wat  she  made  nae  jaukin ; 
Till  something  held  within  the  pat, 

Guid  Lord  !  but  she  was  quaukin  i 
But  whether  'twas  the  Deil  himsel, 

Or  whether  'twas  a  bauk-en', 
Or  whether  it  was  Andrew  Bell, 

She  did  na  wait  on  talkin 

To  spier  that  night. 


They  go  to  the  barn-yard,  and  pull  each,  at  three  several  times,  a  stalk  of  oats.  If  the  thircf 
stalk  wants  the  tap-tzckle.  that  is,  the  grain  at  the  top  of  the  stalk,  the  party  in  question  will  come 
to  the  marriage-bed  anything  but  a  maid.     R.  B. 

t  When  the  corn  is  in  a  .doubtful  state,  by  being  too  green,  or  wet,  the  stack-builder,  by  means 
of  old  timber,  &c.  makes  a  large  apartment  in  his  stack,  with  an  opening  in  the  side  which  is  fairest 
Exposed  to  the  wind  :  this  he  calls  a  Fatise-honss.     R.  B. 

t  Burning  the  nuts  is  a  famous  charm.  They  name  the  lad  and  the  lass  to  each  particular  nut, 
as  they  lay  them  in  the  fire  ;  and  accordingly  as  they  burn  quietly  together,  or  start  from  beside 
°"f  \xrZ        '         course  and  issue  of  the  courtship  will  be.     R.  B. 

§  Whoever  would,  with  success,  try  this  spell,  must  strictly  observe  these  directions  :  Steal  clit, 
all  alone,  to  the  kiln ,  and,  darkling,  throw  into  the  pot  a  clue  of  blue  yam  ;  wind  it  in  a.  new  cine 
oft  the  old  one  ;  and,  towards  the  latter  end,  something  will  hold  the 'thread  ;  demand,  Wha 
hands  (  i.  e.  who  holds?  an  answer  will  be  returned  from  the  kiln-pot,  by  naming  the  Christian  and 
Surname  of  your  future  spouse.     R.  B. 


46 


HALLOWEEN. 


Wee  Jenny  to  her  Grannie  says, 

*  Will  ye  go  wi'  me,  Graunie  ? 
'  I'll  eat  the  apple  *  at  the  glass, 

*  I  gat  frae  uncle  Johnie  :  * 
She  fuff't  her  pipe  wi'  sic  a  hint, 

In  wrath  she  was  sae  vap'rin, 
She  notic't  na,  an  aizle  brunt 
Her  braw  new  worset  apron 

Out  thro*  that  night. 

1  Ye  little  Skelpie-limmer's  face  ! 

'  I  daur  you  try  sic  sportin, 
1  As  seek  the  foul  Thief  ony  place, 

*  For  him  to  spae  your  fortune  ? 

1  Nae  doubt  but  ye  may  get  a  sight  J 

*  Great  cause  ye  hae  to  fear  it ; 

'  For  monie  a  ane  has  gotten  a  fright, 

*  An'  liv'd  an'  di'd  deleeret, 

'  On  sic  a  night. 

'  Ae  Hairst  afore  the  Sherra-moor, 

*  I  mind't  as  weel's  yestreen, 

*  I  was  a  gilpey  then,  I'm  sure 

1 1  was  na  past  fyfteen  : 

*  The  simmer  had  been  cauld  an'  wat, 

*  An'  stuff  was  unco'  green  } 
1  An'  ay  a  rantin  kirn  we  gat, 

'  An'  just  on  Halloween 

1  It  fell  that  night. 

'  Our  stibble-rig  was  Rab  M  'Graen, 

'A  clever,  sturdy  fallow  ; 
'  His  sin  gat  Eppie  Sim  wi'  wean, 

*  That  liv'd  in  Achmacalla  ; 

*He  gat  hemp-seed,  1 1  mind  it  weel, 

*  An'  he  made  unco  light  o't ; 

*  But  monie  a  day  was  by  himself 

*  He  was  sae  sairly  frighted 

'That  vera  night.' 

Then  up  gat  fechtin  Jamie  Fleck, 
An'  he  swoor  by  his  conscience, 

That  he  could  saw  hemp-seed  a  peck  ; 
For  it  was  a'  but  nonsense  : 


The  auld  guidman  raught  down  the  pock, 
An'  out  a  handfu'  gied  him  ; 

Syne  bad  him  slip  frae  'mang  the  folk, 
Sometime  when  nae  ane  see'd  him, 
An'  try't  that  night. 

He  marches  thro'  amang  the  stacks, 

Tho'  he  was  something  sturtin  ; 
The  graip  he  for  a  harrow  taks, 

An'  haurls  at  his  curpin  : 
An'  ev'ry  now  an'  then,  he  says, 

'  Hemp-seed,  I  .saw  thee, 
1  An'  her  that  is  to  be  my  lass, 

*  Come  after  me  an'  draw  thee 

1  As  fast  this  night.' 

He  whistl'd  up  Lord  Lenox'  march, 

To  keep  his  courage  cheary ; 
Altho'  his  hair  began  to  arch, 

He  was  sae  fley'd  an'  eerie  : 
Till  presently  he  hears  a  squeak, 

An'jthen  a  grane  an'  gruntle; 
He  by  his  shouther  gae  a  keek, 

An'  tumbl'd  wi'  a  wintle 

Out-owre  that  night. 

He  roar'd  a  horrid  murder-shout, 

In  dreadfu'  desperation  ! 
An'  young  an'  auld  come  rinnin  out, 

An'  hear  the  sad  narration  : 
He  swoor  'twas  hilchin  Jean  M'Craw, 

Or  crouchie  Merran  Humphie, 
Till  stop  J  she  trotted  thro',  them  a' ; 

An'  wha  was  it  but  Grumphie 

Asteer  that  night ! 

Meg  fain  wad  to  the  barn  gaen 

To  winn  three  wechts.  o'  naethi 
But  for  to  meet  the  Deil  her  lane, 

She  pat  but  little  faith  in  : 
She  gies  the  Herd  a  pickle  nits, 

And  twa  red-cheekit  apples, 
To  watch,  while  for  the  barn  she  sets, 

In  hopes  to  see  Tarn  Kipples 
That  vera  night. 


ng'A 


*  Take  a  candle,  and  go  alone  to  a  looking-glass  :  cat  an  apple  before  it,  and  some  traditions  say, 
you  should  comb  your  hair  all  the  time  :  the  face  of  your  conjugal  companion,  to  be,  .will  be  seen  in 
the  glass,  as  if  peeping  over  your  shoulder.     R.  B. 

t  Steal  out  unperceived,  and  sow  a  handful  of  hemp-seed  ;  harrowing  it  with  anything  you  can 
conveniently  draw  after  you.  Repeat  now  and  then,  r  Hemp-seed,  I  saw  thee,  hemp-seed,  I  saw 
thee :  and  him  (or  her)  that  is  to  he  my  true-love,  come  after  me  and  pou  thee.'  Look  over  your 
left  shoulder, 'and  you  will  sec  the  appearance  of  the  person  invoked,  in  the  attitude  of  pulling 
hemp.  Some  traditions  say,  'come  after  me,  and  shaw  thee,'  that  is,  show  thyself:  in  which  case 
it  simply  appears.     Others  omit  the  harrowing,  and  say,  'come  after  me,  and  narrow  thee.*    R.  B. 

X  This  charm  must  likewise  be  performed  unperceived,  and  alone.    You  go  to  the  barn,  and 


HALLO  WEEK. 


4? 


She  turns  the  key,  wi'  cannie  thraw, 

An'  owre  the  threshold  ventures  ; 
But  first  on  Sawnie  gies  a  ca', 

Syne  bauldly  in  she  enters  ; 
A  ratton  rattl'd  up  the  wa', 

An'  she  cry'd,  Lord  preserve  her  J 
An'  ran  thro'  midden-hole  an'  a', 

An'  pray'd  wi'  zeal  an'  fervour, 
Fu'  fast  that  night.' 

They  hoy't  out  Will,  wi'  sair  advice  ; 

They  hecht  him  some  fine  braw  ane  ; 
It  chanc'd  the  stack  he  faddom't  thrice  * 

Was  timmer-propt  for  thrawin  : 
He  taks  a  swirlie,  auld  moss-oak, 

For  some  black,  grousome  Carlin  ; 
An'  loot  a  winze,  an'  drew  a  stroke, 

Till  skin  in  blypes  cam  haurlin 

Aff's  nieves  that  night. 

A  wanton  widow  Leezie  was, 

As  cantie  as  a  kittlin  ; 
But  Och  !  that  night,  amang  the  shaws, 

She  gat  a  fearfu'  settlin  ! 
She  thro'  the  whins,  an'  by  the  cairn, 

An'  owre  the  hill  gaed  scrievin, 
Wrhare  three  lairds'  lands  met  at  a  burn,  f 

To  dip  her  left  sark-sleeve  in, 

Was  bent  that  night. 

Whyles  owre  a  linn  the  burnie  plays, 
As  thro'  the  glen  it  wimpl't ; 

Whyles  round  a  rocky  scar  it  strays ; 
Whyles  in  a  wiel  it  dimpl't ; 


Whyles  glitter'd  to  the  nightly  rays, 
Wi'  bickering,  dancing  dazzle  ; 

Whyles  cookit  underneath  the  braeS, 
Below  the  spreading  hazel, 

Unseen  that  night. 

Amang  the  brachens  on  the  brae, 

Between-  her  an'  the  moon, 
The  Deil,  or  else  an  outler  Quey, 

Gat  up  an'  gae  a  croon  : 
Poor  Leezie's  heart  maist  lap  the  hool ; 

Near  lav'rock  height  she  jumpit, 
But  mist  a  fit,  an'  in  the  pool 

Out-owre  the  lugs  she  plumpit, 

Wi'  a  plunge  that  night. 

In  order,  on  the  clean  hearth -stane, 

The  luggies  three  %  are  ranged  ; 
And  ev'ry  time  great  care  is  taen, 

To  see  them  duly  changed  : 
Auld  uncle  John,  wha  wedlock's  joys 

Sin'  Mar's-year  did  desire, 
Because  he  gat  the  toom  dish  thrice, 

He  heav'd  them  on  the  fire 

In  wrath  that  night. 

Wi'  merry  sangs,  and  friendly  cracks, 

I  wat  they  did  na  weary ; 
And  unco  tales,  an'  funnie  jokes, 

Their  sports  were  cheap  and  cheary  ; 
Till  butter'd  So'ns?§  wi'  fragrant  lunt, 

Set  a'  their  gabs  a-steerin  ; 
Syne,  wi'  a  social  glass  o'  strunt, 

They  parted  aff  careerin " 

Fu'  blythe  that  night. 


Open  both  doors,  taking  them  Off  the  hinges,  if  possible  ;  for  there  is  danger,  that  the  &etng;  about 
to  appear,  may  shut  the  doors,  and  do  you  some  mischief  Then  take  that  instrument  used  in 
winnowing  the  corn,  which,  in  our  country  dialect,  we  call  a  ivecht ,  and  go  through  all  the 
attitudes  of  letting  down  corn  against  the  wind  Repeat  it  three  times  .  and  the  third  time  an 
apparition  will  pass  through  the  bam,  in  at  the  windy  door,  and  out  at  the  other,  having  both  the 
figure  in  question,  and  the  appearance  or  retinue,  marking  the  employment  or  station  in  life.   R.  B. 

*  Take  an  opportunity  of  going,  unnoticed,  to  a  Bear-stack,  and  fathom  it  three  times  round. 
The  last  fathom  of  the  last  time,  you  will  catch  in  your  arms  the  appearance  of  your  future  conjugal 
yoke-fellow.     R.  B. 

t  You  go  out,  one  or  more  (for  this  is  a  social  spell),  to  a  south  running  spring  or  rivulet,  where 

three  lairds'  lands  meet,'  and  dip  your  left  shirt  sleeve.     Go  to  bed  in  sight  of  a  fire,  and  hang 

your  wet  sleeve  before  it  to  dry.     Lie  awake  ;and  some  time  near  midnight,  an  apparition,  having 

the  exact  figure  of  the  grand  object  in  question,  will  come  and  turn  the  sleeve,  a*  if  to  dry  the 

other  side  of  it.     R.  B. 

X  Take  three  dis"hes  ;  put  clean  water  in  one,  foul  water  in  another,  leave  the  third  empty 
blindfold  a  person,  and  lead  him  to  the  hearth  where  the  dishes  arc  ranged  he  (or  she)  dips  the 
left  hand  :  if  by  chance  in  the  clean  water,  the  future  husband  or  wife  will  come  to  the  bar  of 
matrimony,  a  maid  :  if  in  the  foul,  a  widow  :  if  in  the  empty  dish,  it  foretells,  with  equal  certainty, 
no  marriage  at  all.  It  is  repeated  three  times ;  and  every  time  the  arrangement  of  the  dishes  h 
altered.     R.  B. 

§  Sowens,  with  butter  instead  of  milk  to  them,  is  always  the  Halloween  Supper.    R.  B. 


48 


THE  JOLLY  BEGGARS. 


THE   JOLLY   BEGGARS 

A   CANTATA. 


RECITATIVO. 


When  Iyart  leaves  bestrow  the  yird,» 
Or,  wavering  like  the  bauckie  bird, 

Bedim  cauld  <Boreas'  blast : 
When  hails.tanes  drive  wi'  bitter  skyte, 
And  infant  frosts  begin  to  bite, 

In  hoary  cranreuch  drest; 
Ae  hight,  at  e'en,  a  merry  core 

O*  randie,  gangrel  bodies, 
In  Poosie-Nansie's  held  the  splore, 
To  drink  their  orra  duddies  : 
Wi'  quaffing  and  laughing, 

They  ranted  and  they  sang  ; 
Wi'  jumping  and  thumping, 
The  verra  girdle  rang. 


First*  niest  the  fire,  in  auld  red  rags, 
Ane  sat,  weel  brac'd  wi'. mealy  bags, 

And  knapsack  a'  in  order ; 
His  doxy  lay  within  his  arm, 
Wi'  usquebae  and  blankets  warm, 

She  blinket  on  her  sodger ; 
An'  aye  he  gies  the  towsie  drab 

The  tither  skelpin*  kiss, 
While  she  held  up  her  greedy  gab, 
Just  like  an  aumous  dish  ; 

Ilk  smack  still,  did  cra^k  still, 

Just  like  a  cadge r'sAvhip, 
Then  staggering,  and  swaggering, 
He  roar'd  this  ditty  up— 


AIR. 

Tune—'  Soldier's  yoy* 

I  AM  a  son  of  Mars,  who  have  been  in  many  wars, 
And  show  my  cuts  and  scars  wherever  I  come ; 
This  here  was  for  a  wench,  and  that  other  in  a  trench, 
When  welcoming  the  French  at  the  sound  of  the  drum. 

Lai  de  daudle,  &c 

My  'prentiship  I  pass'd  where  my  leader  breath 'd  his  last, 
When  the  bloody  die  was  cast  on  the  heights  of  Abram  ; 
I  serv'd  out  my  trade  when  the  gallant  game  was  play'd, 
And  the  Morro  low  was  laid  at  the  sound  of  the  drum. 

Lai  de  daudle,  &c. 

I  lastly  was  with -Curtis,  among  the  floating  batt'ries, 
And  there  I  left  for  witness  an  arm  and  a  limb  : 
Yet  let  my  country  need  me,  with  F.lliot  to  head  me, 
I'd  clatter  on  my  stumps  at  the  sound  of  a  drum. 

Lai  de  daudle,  &c. 

And  now,  tho'  I  must  beg,  with  a  wooden  arm  and  leg, 
And  mnny  a  tatter'd  rag  hanging  over  my  bum, 
I'm  as  happy  with  my  wallet,  my  bottle,  and  my  callet, 
As  when  I  us'd  in  scarlet  to  follow  a  drum. 

Lai  de  daudle,  &c. 

What  tho'  with  hoary  locks,  I  must  stand  the  winter  shocks, 
Beneath  the  wbods  and  rocks,  oftentimes  for  a  home  ; 
When  the  t'other  bag  I  sell,  and  the  t'other  bottle  tell, 
I  could  meet  a  troop  of  hell  at  the  sound  of  the  drum. 


THE  JOLL  Y  BEGGARS.  49 


RECITATIVO. 


He  ended ;  and  the  kebars  sheuk 

Ahoon  the  chorus  roar ; 
While  frighted  rattons  backward  leuk, 

And  seek  the  benmost  bore : 


A  fairy  fiddler  frae  the  neuk, 
He  skirl' d  out  encore  ! 

But  up  arose  the  martial  chuck, 
And  laid  the  loud  uproar. 


AIR. 

Tune— c  Soldier  Laddie* 

£  ONCE  was  a  maid,  tho'  I  cannot  tell  when, 
And  still  my  delight  is  in  proper  young  men  ; 
Some  one  of  a  troop  of  dragoons  was  my  daddie, 
No  wonder  I'm  fond  of  a  sodger  laddie. 

Sing,  Lai  de  lal,  &c 

The  first  of  my  loves  was  a  swaggering  blade, 
To  rattle  the  thundering  drum  was  his  trade; 
His  leg  was  so  tight,  and  his  cheek  was  so  ruddy, 
Transported  I  was  with  my  sodger  laddie. 

Sing,  Lal  de  lal,  &c 

But  the  godly  old  chaplain  left  him  in  the  lurch, 
So  the  sword  I  forsook  for  the  sake  of  the  church ; 
He  ventur'd  the  soul,  I  risked  the  body, 
'Twas  then  I  prov'd  false  to  my  sodger  laddie. 

Sing,  Lal  de  lal,  &c, 

Full  soon  I  grew  sick  of  my  sanctified  sot, 
The  regiment  at  large  for  a  husband  I  got ; 
From  the  gilded  spontoon  to  the  fife  I  was  ready, 
I  asked  no  more  but  a  sodger  laddie. 

Sing,  Lal  de  lal,  &c. 

But  the  peace  it  redue'd  me  to  beg  in  despair, 
Till  I  met  my  old  boy  at  a  Cunningham  tan  ; 
His  rags  regimental  they  flutter'd  so  gaudy, 
My  heart  it  rejoie'd  at  my  sodger  laddie.    . 

Sing,  Lal  de  lal,  &c 

And  now  I  have  liv'd— I  know  not  how  long, 

And  still  I  can  join  in  a  cup  or  a  song ; 

But  whilst  with  both  hands  I  can  hold  the  glass  steady, 

Here's  to  thee,  my  hero,  my  sodger  laddie. 

Sing,  Lal  de  lal,  &c 

RECITATIVO. 


Poor  Merry  Andrew,  in  the  neuk 
Sat  guzzling  wi'  a  tinkler  hizzie ; 

They  mind't  na  wha  the  chorus  teuk, 
Between  themselves  they  were  sae  bizzy; 


At  length,  wi*  drink  and  courting  dizzy, 
He  stoitered  up  an'  made  a  face  ; 

Then  tum'd,  an'  laid  a  smack  on  Grizzy, 
Syne  tun'd  his  pipes  wi'  grave  grimace. 


5° 


THE  JOLLY  BEGGARS, 


AIR. 
Tune—'  Auld  Syr  Symon* 

Sir  Wisdom's  a  fool  when  he's  fou, 
Sir  Knave  is  a  fool  in  a  session ; 

He's  there  but  a  'prentice  I  trow, 
But  I  am  a  fool  by  profession. 

My  grannie  she  bought  me  a  beuk, 
And  I  held  awa  to  the  school ; 

I  fear  I  my  talent  misteuk, 

But  what  will  ye  hae  of  a  fool  ? 

For  drink  I  would  venture  my  neck  ; 

A  hizzie's  the  half  o'  my  craft; 
But  what  could  ye  other  expect, 

Of  ane  that's  avowedly  daft  ? 

I  ance  was  ty'd  up  like  a  stirk, 
For  civilly  swearing  and  quaffing ; 

I  ance  was  abus'd  i'  the  kirk, 
For  towzling  a  lass  i'  my  damn. 

Poor  Andrew  that  tumbles  for  sport, 
Let  naebody  name  wi'  a  jeer ; 

There's  ev'n,  I'm  tauld,  i'  the  court, 
A  tumbler  ca'd  the  Premier. 

Observ'd  ye,  yon  reverend  lad 
Maks  faces  to  tickle  the  mob ; 

He  rails  at  our  mountebank  squad-— 
It's  rivalship  just  i'  the  job. 

And  now  my  conclusion  I'll  tell, 
For  faith  I'm  confoundedly  dry ; 

The  chiel  that's  a  fool  for  himsel', 
Gude  Lord,  is  far  dafter  than  I. 

RECITATIVO. 

Then  niest  dutspak  a  raucle  carlin, 
Wha  kent  fu'  weel  to  cleek  the  sterling, 
<For  monie  a  pursie  she  had  hooked, 
And  had  in  monie  a  well  been  dooked ; 
Her  dove  had  been  a  Highland  laddie, 
But  weary  fa'  the  waefu'  woodie  ! 
Wi'  sighs  and  sabs,  she  thus  began 
To  wail  her  braw  John  Highlandman  : 

AIR. 
Tune— *0,  art ye  were  dead,  Guidman* 
A  Highland  lad  my  love  was  born, 
The  Lawlan'  laws  he  held  in  scorn  : 
But  he  still  was  faithfu'  to  his  clan, 
My  gallant  braw  John  Highlandman. 


CHORUS. 


Sing,  hey,  my  braw  John  Highland 

man! 
Sing,  ho,  my  braw  John  Highlandman! 
There's  no  a  lad  in  a'  the  Ian' 
Was  match  for  my  John  Highlandman. 

With  his  philibeg  an'  tartan  plaid, 
And  gude  claymore  down  by  his  side, 
The  ladies'  hearts  he  did  trepan* 
My  gallant  braw  John  Highlandman. 
Sing,  hey,  &c. 

We  ranged  a'  from  Tweed  to  Spey, 
And  liv'd  like  lords  and  ladies  gay ; 
For  a  Lawlan'  face  he  feared  nane, 
My  gallant  braw  John  Highlandman. 
Sing,  hey,  &c 

They  banish'd  him  beyond  the  sea, 
But  ere  the  bud  was  on  the  tree, 
Adown  my  cheeks  the  pearls  ran, 
Embracing  my  John  Highlandman. 

Sing,  hey,  &c. 

But,  oh  !  they  catch'd  him  at  the  last, 
And  bound  him  in  a  dungeon  fast ; 
My  curse  upon  them  every  ane, 
They've  hang'd  my  braw  John  High- 
landman. 

Sing,  hey,  &c. 

And  now  a  widow,  I  must  mourn 
The  pleasures  that  will  ne'er  return  ; 
No  comfort  but  a  hearty  can, 
When  1  think  on  John  Highlandman. 
Sing,  hey,  &c. 

RECITATIVO 

A  pigmy  Scraper  wi'  his  riddle, 

Wha  us'd  at  trysts  and  fairs  to  driddle, 

Her  strappin  limb  and  gaucy  middle 

(He  reach'd  nae  higher), 
Had  hol't  his  heartie  like  a  riddle, 

And  blawn't  on  fire. 

Wi'  hand  on  haunch,  and  upward  ee. 
He  croon' d  his  gamut,  one,  two,  three, 
Then,  in  an  Arioso  key, 

The  wee  Apollo 
Set  alT,  wi'  Allegretto  glee, 

His  giga  solo. 


THE  JOLLY  BEGGARS. 


5* 


AIR, 
Tune — •  Whistle  ovjre  the  lave  dt* 
Let  me  ryke  up  to  dight  that  tear, 
And  go  wi'  me  and  be  my  dear, 
And  then  your  every  care  and  fear 
May  whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 

CHORUS. 

I  am  a  fiddler  to  my  trade, 
And  a'  the  tunes  that  e'er  I  play'd, 
The  sweetest  still  tp  wife  or  maid, 
Was  whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 

At  kirns  and  weddings  we'se  be  there, 
And  oh  !  sae  nicely 's  we  will  fare ; 
We'll  bouse  about,  till  Daddie  Care 
Sings  whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 

I  am,  &c. 

Sae  merrily's  the  banes  we'll  pyke, 
And  sun  oursels  about  the  dyke, 
And  at  oyr  leisure,  when  ye  like, 
We'll  whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 

I  am,  &c. 

But  bless  me  wi'  your  heav'n  o'  charms, 
And  while  I  kittle  hair  on  thairms, 
Hunger,  cauld,  arid  a'  sic  harms, 
May  whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 

I  am,  &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

HeiTcnarms  had  struck  a  sturdy  Caird, 
As  well  as  poor  Gut-scraper ; 

He  taks  the  fiddler  by  the  beard, 
And  draws  a  roosty  rapier — 

He  swoor,  by  a'  was  swearing  worth, 

To  spit  him  like  a  pliver, 
Unless  he  wad  from  that  time  forth 

Relinquish  her  for  ever. 

Wi'  ghastly  ee,  poor  tweedle-dee 

Upon  his  hunkers  bended, 
And  pray'd  for  grace,  wi'  ruefu'  face, 

And  sae  the  quarrel  ended. 

But  tho'  his  little  heart  did  grieve 
When  round  the  tinkler  prest  her, 

He  feign'd  to  snirtle  in  his  sleeve, 
When  thus  the  Caird  address'd  her : 


AIR. 
Tune—'  Clout  the  Cauldron." 

My  bonnie  lass,  I  work  in  brass, 

A  tinkler  is  my  station  ; 
I've  travell'd  round  all  Christian  ground 

In  this  my  occupation ; 
I've  ta'en  the  gold,  I've  been  enroll'd 

In  many  a  noble  squadron  ; 
But  vain  they  search'd,  when  off  I  march'd 

To  go  and  clout  the  cauldron. 

I've  ta'en  the  gold,  &c. 

Despise  that  shrimp,  that  wither'd  imp, 

Wi''  a'  his  noise  and  cap'rin', 
And  tak  a  share  wi'  those  that  bear 

The  budget  and  the  apron ; 
And  by  that  stoup,  my  faith  and  houp, 

And  by  that  dear  Kilbagie, 
If  e'er  ye  want,  or  meet  wi'  scant, 

May  I  ne'er  weet  my  craigie. 

And  by  that  stoup,  &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

The  Caird  prevail'd — th'  unblushing  fair 

In  his  embraces  sunk, 
Partly  wi'  love  o'ercome  sae  sair, 

And  partly  she  was  drunk. 
Sir  Violino,  with  an  air 

That  show'd  a  man  o'  spunk, 
Wish'd  unison  between  the  pair, 

And  made  the  bottle  clunk 

To  their  health  that  night. 

But  hurchin  Cupid  shot  a  shaft 

That  play'd  a  dame  a  shavie, 
The  fiddler  rak'd  her  fore  and  aft, 

Behint  the  chicken  cavie. 
Her  lord,  a  wight  o'  Homer's  craft, 

Tho'  limpin'  wi'  the  spavie,* 
He  hirpl'd  up,  and  lap  like  daft, 

And  shor'd  them  Dainty  Davie. 
O  boot  that  night. 

He  was  a  care-defying  blade 

As  ever  Bacchus  listed, 
Tho'  Fortune  sair  upon  him  laid, 

His  heart  she  ever  miss'd  it. 
He  had  nae  wish,  but—  to  be  glad, 

Nor  want  but — when  he  thirsted ; 
He  hated  nought  but— to  be  sad, 

And  thus  the  Muse  suggested 
p  His  sang  that  night. 

la 


52 


THE  JOLL  Y  BEGGARS. 


AIR. 
Tune— 'For a%  that,  andct  that* 
I  AM  a  bard  of  no  regard 

Wi'  gentlefolks,  an'  a'  that  ; 
But  Homer-like,  the  glowran  byke, 
Frae  town  to  town  I  draw  that. 

CHORUS. 

For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

And  twice  as  meikle  's  a'  that ; 

I've  lost  but  ane,  I've  twa  behin', 
I've  wife  eneugh  for  a'  that. 

I  never  drank  the  Muses'  stank, 

Castaiia's  bum,  an'  a'  that ; 
But  there  it  streams,  and  richly  ream's, 

My  Helicon  I  ca'  that. 

For  a'  that,  &c. 

Great  love  I  bear  to  a'  the  fair, 
Their  humble  slave,  an'  a*  that ; 

But  lordly  will,  I  hold  it  still 
A  mortal  sin  to  thraw  that. 

For  a'  that,  &c. 

In  raptures  sweet,  this  hour  we  meet 
Wi'- mutual  love,  an' -a'  that ; 

But  for  how  lang  the  flie  may  stang, 
Let  inclination  lav/  that. 

For  a'  that,  &c. 

Their  tricks  and  craft  hae  put  me  daft, 
They've  ta'en  me  in,  and  a'  that ; 

But  clear  your  decks,  and  here's  the 
sex ! 
I  like  the  jads  for  a'  that. 

For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

And  twice  as  muckle  's  a'  that, 

My  dearest  blind,  to  do  them  gnid, 
They're  welcome  till't,  for  a'  that. 

RECITATIVO. 

So  sung  the  bard — and  Nansie's  wa's 
Shook  with  a  thunder  of  applause, 

Re-echo'd  from  each  mouth  ; 
They  toom'd  their  pocks,  an'  pawn'd 

their  duds, 
They  scarcely  left  to  co'er  their  fuds, 

To  quench  their  lowan  drouth. 

Then  owre  again,  the  jovial  thrang 
The  poet  did  request, 


To  lowse  his  pack,  an'  wale  a  sang, 

A  ballad  o'  the  best ; 
He,  rising,  rejoicing, 

Between  his  twa  Deborah;,, 
Looks  round  him,  an'  found  them 

Impatient  for  the  chorus. 

AIR. 
Tune— 'Jolly  Mortals,  filly <our  Glasses.' 

See  !  the  smoking  bowl  before  us, 
Mark  our  jovial  ragged  ring; 

Round  and  round  take  up  the  chorus, 
And  in  raptures  let  us  sing  : 

CHORUS. 

A  fig  for  those  by  law  protected  J 
Liberty's  a  glorious  feast ! 

Courts  for  cowards  were  erected, 
Churches  built  to  please  the  priestf 

What  is  title  ?  what  is  treasure  ? 

WThat  is  reputation's  care  ? 
If  we  lead  a  life  of  pleasure, 

'Tis  no  matter,  how  or  where  ! 

A  fig,  £c 

With  the  ready  trick  and  fable, 
Round  we  wander  all  the  day  ; 

And  at  night,  in  barn  or  stable, 
Hug  our  doxies  on  the  hay. 

A  fig,  &c. 

Does  the  train-attended  carriage 
Thro'  the  country  lighter  rove? 

Does  the  sober  bed  of  marriage 
W.tness  brighter  scenes  of  love? 
A  fig,  &c. 

Life  is  all  a  variorum,  _ 

We  regard  not  how  it  goes  ; 

Let  them  cant  about  decorum 
Who  have  characters  to  lose. 

A  fig,  &c. 

Here's  to  budgets,  bags,  and  wallets  I 
Here's  to  all  the  wandering  train  ! 

Here's  our  ragged  brats  and  callets ! 
One  and  all  cry  out,  Amen ! 

A  rig,  &c. 


THE  AULD  FARMER'S  NEW- YEAR  SALUTATION. 


53 


THE  AULD  FARMER'S  NEW-YEAR  MORNING  SALUTATION 
TO  HIS  AULD  MARE,  MAGGIE, 

ON  GIVING  HER  THE  ACCUSTOMED  RIPP  OF  CORN  TO  HANSEL  IN  THE  NEW  YEAR. 


A  GUip  New- Year  I  wish  thee,  Maggie  ! 
Hae,. there's  a  ripp  to  thy  auld  baggie  : 
Tho'    thou's   howe-backit,    now,    an* 
lmaggie, 

I've  seen  the  day, 
Thou  could  hae  gane  like  ony  staggie 

Out-owre  the  lay. 

Tho'  now  thou's  doWie,  stiff,  an'  crazy, 
An'  thy  auld  hide's  as  white's  a  daisie, 
I've  seen  thee  dappl't,  sleek  an'  glaizie, 

A  bonie  gray  : 
He  should  been  tight  that  daur't  to  raize 
thee, 

Ance  in  a  day. 

Thou  ance  was  i'  the  foremost  rank, 
A  filly  buirdly,  steeve,  an'  swank, 
An'  set  weel  down  a  shapely  shank, 

As  e'er  tread  yird  ; 
An'  could  hae  flown  out-owre  a  stank, 

Like  onie  bird. 

It's  now  some  nine-an'-twenfy  year, 
Sin'  thou  was'my  guid-father's  meere ; 
He  gied  me  thee,  o'  tocher  clear, 

An'  fifty  mark ; 
Tho'  it  was  sma',  'twas  weel-won  gear, 

An'  thou  was  stark. 

When  first  I  gaed  to  woo  my  Jenny, 
Ye  then  was  trottin  wi'  your  minnie  : 
Tho'  ye  was  trickie,  slee,  an'  funnie, 

Ye  ne'er  was  donsie 
But  hamely,  tawie,  quiet,  an'  cannie, 

An'  unco  sonsie. 

That  day,  ye  pranc'd  wi'  muckle  pride, 
When  ye  bure  hame  my  bonie  bride  ; 
An'  sweet  an'  gracefu'  she  did  ride, 

Wi'  maiden  air ! 
Kyle-Stewart  I  could  bragged  wide, 

For  sic  a  pair. 


Tho'  now  ye  dow  but  hoyte  and  hoble, 
An'  wintle  like  a  saumont-coble, 
That  day  ye  was  a  j  inker  noble 

For  heels  an'  win' ! 
An'  ran  them  till  they  a'  did  wauble, 

Far,  far  behi'n'. 

When  thou  an'  I  v/er*  young  and  skeigh, 
An'  stable-meals  at  fairs  were  driegh, 
How  thou  wad  prance,  an'  snore,  an' 
skriegh 

An'  tak  the  road  ! 
Town's-bodies  ran,  and  stood  abeigh,- 

An'  ca't  thee  mad. 

When  thou  was  corn't,  an'  I  was  mellow, 
We  took  the  road  ay  like  a  swallow  : 
At  Brooses  thou  had  ne'er  a  fellow, 

For  pith  an'  speed  ; 
But  ev'ry  tail  thou  pay't  them  hollow, 

Whare'er  thou  gaed. 

The  sma',  droop -rumpl't,  hunter  cattle, 
Might  aiblins  waur't  thee  for  a  brattle  ; 
But  sax  Scotch  miles  thou  try't  their 
mettle, 

An'  gart  them  whaizle  : 
Nae  whip  nor  spur,  but  just  a  wattle 
O'  saugh  or  hazel. 

Thou  was  a  noble  fittie-lan', 

As  e'er  in  tug  or  tow  was  drawn  ! 

Aft  thee  an'  I,  in  aught  hours  gaun, 

On  guid  March- weather, 
Hae  turn'd  sax  rood  beside  our  hah', 

For  days  thegither. 

Thou  never  braindg't,  an'    fetch't,  an' 

fliskit, 
But  thy  auld  tail  thou  wad  hae  whiskit, 
An'  spread  abreed  thy  weel-fill'd  brisket, 

Wi'  pith  an*  pow'r, 
Till  spritty  knowes  wad  rafr't  and  riskit, 

An*  slypet  owre. 


54 


TO  A  MOUSE. 


When  frosts  lay  lang,  an   snaws  were 

deep, 
An'  threaten'd  labour  back  to  keep, 
I  gied  thy  cog  a  wee-bit  heap 

Aboon  the  timmer ; 
I  ken'd  my  Maggie  wad  na  sleep 

For  that,  or  simmer. 

In  cart  or  car  thou  never  reestit ; 

The  steyest  brae  thou  wad  hae  face't  it; 

Thou  never  lap,  an'  sten't,  and  breastit, 

Then  stood  to  blaw ; 
But  just  thy  step  a  wee  thing  hastit, 

Thou  snoov't  awa. 

My  pleugh  is  now  thy  bairn-time  a' : 
Four  gallant  brutes  as  e'er  did  draw ; 
Forbye  sax  mae,  I've  sell't  awa, 

That  thou  hast  nurst : 
They  drew  me  thretteen  pund  an'  twa, 

The  vera  warst. 


Monie  a  sair  daurk  we  twa  hae  wrought, 
An'  wi'  the  weary  warl'  fought ! 
An'  monie  an  anxious  day,  I  thought 

We  wad  be  beat ! 
Yet  Here  to  crazy  age  we're  brought, 

Wi'  something  yet. 

And  think  na,  my  auld,  trusty  servan', 
That  now  perhaps  thou 's  less  deservin, 
An'  thy  auld  days  may  end  in  starvin, 

For  my  last  fou, 
A  heapit  stimpart,  I'll  reserve  ane 

Laid  by  for  you. 

We've  worn  to  crazy  years  thegither ; 
We'll  toyte  about  wi'  ane  anither  ; 
Wi'  tentie  care  I'll  flit  thy  tether 

To  some  hain'd  rig, 
Whare  ye  may  nobly  rax  your  leather, 

Wi'  sma'  fatigue. 


TO  A  MOUSE,  ON  TURNING  HER  UP  IN  HER  NEST 
WITH  THE  PLOUGH,  NOVEMBER,  1785. 


Wee,  sleekit,  cow'rin,  tim'rous  beastie, 
O,  what  a  panic 's  in  thy  breastie  ! 
Thou  need  na  start  awa  sae  hasty, 

Wi'  bickering  brattle ! 
I  wad  be  laith  to  rin  an'  chase  thee, 

Wi'  'murd'ring  pattle ! 

I'm  truly  sorry  man's  dominion 
Has  broken  Nature's  social  union, 
An'  justifies  that  ill  opinion, 

Which  makes  thee  startle, 
At  me,  thy  poor,  earth-born  companion, 

An?  fellow-mortal ! 

I  doubt  na,  whiles,  but  thou  may  thieve,  j 
What  then  ?  poor  beastie,  thou  maun  live ! 
A  daimen-icker  in  a  thrave 

'S  a  sma*  request : 
I'll  get  a  blessin  wi'  the  lave, 

And  never  miss't ! 

Thy  wee  bit  housie,  too,  in  ruin  ! 
Its  silly  wa's  the  win's  are  strewin  I 
An'  naething,  now,  to  big  a  new  ane, 

O'  foggage  green  ! 
An*  bleak  Decembers  winds  ensuin, 

Baith  snell  an'  keen ! 


Thou  saw  the  fields  laid  bare  and  waste, 
An'  weary  winter  comin  fast, 
An'  cozie  here,  beneath  the  blast, 

Thou  thought  to  dwell, 
Till  crash  !  the  cruel  coulter  past, 

Out  thro'  thy  cell. 

That  wee  bit  heap  o'  leaves  an'  stibble, 
Has  cost  thee  mony  a  weary  nibble  ! 
Now  thou's  turn'd  out,  for  a'  thy  trouble, 

But  house  or  hald, 
To  thole  the  winter's  sleety  dribble, 

An'  cranreuch  cauld  ! 

But,  Mousie,  thou  art  no  thy  lane, 
In  proving  foresight  may  be  vain  : 
The  best  laid  schemes  o'  mice  an'  men 

Gang  aft  a-gley, 
An'  lea'e  us  nought  but  grief  an'  pain, 

For  promis'd  joy. 

Still  thou  art  blesfc  compared  wi'  m§  ! 
The  present  only  toucheth  thee  : 
ButJ  Och  !  I  backward  cast  my  c'e 

On  prospects  drear ! 
An'  forward,  tho'  I  canna  see, 

I  guess  an'  fear  I 


A  WINTER  NTCHT.  55 


A  WINTER  NIGHT. 


Poor  naked  ibretches>  wheresoe'er you  are, 
Thajt  bide  th\  pelting  of  this  pitiless  storm  ! 
How  shall  your  houseless  heads,  and  unfed  sides, 
Your  loop'd  and  window*  d  raggedness,  defend  you, 

From  seasons  such  as  these  ? 

Shakespeare. 


When  biting  Boreas,  fell  and  doure, 
Sharp  shivers  thro.*  the  leafless  bow'r  ;  • 
When  Phoebus  gieS  a  short-liv'd  glow'r, 

Far  .south  the  lift, 
Dim-dark*ning  thro?  the  flaky  show'r, 

Or  whirling  drift : 

Ae  night  the  storm  the  steeples  rocked, 
Poor  Labour  sweet  in  sleep  was  locked, 
While  burns,  wi'  snawy  wreeths  up-choked, 

Wild-eddying  swirl, 
Or  thro'  the  mining  outlet  bocked, 

Down  headlong  hurl. 

List'ning;  the  doors  an/  winnocks  rattle, 
I  thought  me  on  the  ourie  cattle, 
Or  silly  sheep,  wha  bide  this  brattle 

O'  winter  war, 
And  thro*  the  drift,  deep-lairing,  sprattle, 

Beneath  a  scar. 

Ilk  happing  bird,  wee,  helpless  thing  ! 
That,  in  the  merry  months  o'  spring, 
Delighted  me  to  hear  thee  sing, 

What  comes  o'  the 
Whare  wilt  thou  cow'r  thy  chittering  win 

An'  close  thy  e'e  ? 

Ev'n  you  on  murd'ring  errands  toil'd, 

Lone  from  your  savage  homes  exil'd, 

The  blood-stain'd  roost,  and  sheep-cote  spoil'd 

My  heart  forgets, 
While  pityless  the  tempest  wild 

Sore  on  you  beats. 

Now  Phcebe,  in  her  midnight  reign, 
Dark  muffl'd,  view'd  the  dreary  plain ; 
Still  crowding  thoughts,  a  pensive  train, 

Rose  in  my  soul, 
When  on  my  ear  this  plaintive  strain, 

Slow,  solemn,  stole— 


5* 


A  WINTER  NIGHT. 


4  Blow,  blow,  ye  winds,  with  heavier  gust ! 
'  And  freeze,  thou  bitter-biting  frost ! 
'  Descend,  ye  chilly,  smothering  snows  ! 
'  Not  all  your  rage,  as  now,  united  shows 

8  More  hard  unkindness,  unrelenting, 

4  Vengeful  malice  unrepenting, 
•Than  heav'n-illumin'd  man  on  brother  man  bestows ! 
'  See  stern  Oppression's  iron  grip, 

'  Or  mad  Ambition's  gory  hand, 

*  Sending,  like  blood-hounds  from  the  slip, 

*  Woe,  want,  and  murder  o'er  a  land ! 
'  Ev'n  in  the  peaceful  rural  vale, 

*  Truth,  weeping,  tells  the  mournful  tale, 

'  How  pamper'd  Luxury,  Flatt'ry  by  her  side, 

*  The  parasite  empoisoning  her  ear, 

*  With  all  the  servile  wretches  in  the  rear, 
4  Looks  o'er  proud  property,  extended  wide  ; 

*  And  eyes  the  simple  rustic  hind, 

*  Whose  toil  upholds  the  glitt'ring  show, 
'  A  creature  of  another  kind, 

*  Some  coarser  substance,  unrefin'd, 

'  Plac'd  for  her  lordly  use  thus  far,  thus  vile,  below 


*  Where,  where  is  Love's  fond,  tender  throe, 

*  With  lordly  Honour's  lofty  brow, 

*  The  pow'rs  you  proudly  own  ? 
'Is  there,  beneath  Love's  noble  name, 
'Can harbour,  dark,  the  selfish  aim, 

'  To  bless  himself  alone  ! 
'  Mark  maiden-innocence  a  prey 

*  To  love-pretending  snares, 

*  This  boasted  honour  turns  away, 
'  Shunning  soft  pity's  rising  sway, 

4  Regardless  of  the  tears,  and  unavailing  pray'rs  ! 
'  Perhaps  this  'hour,  in  mis'ry's  squalid  nest, 
'  She  strains  your  infant  to  her  joyless  breast, 

'  And  with  a  mother's  fears  shrinks  at  the  rocking  blast ! 


'  Oh  ye  !  who,  sunk  in  beds  ofdown, 
'  Feel  not  a  want  but  what  yourselves  create, 
'  Think,  for  a  moment,  on  his  wretched  fate, 

*  Whom  friends  and  fortune  quite  disown ! 
1  111 -satisfied  keen  nature's  clam'rous  call, 

1  Stretch'd  on  his  straw  he  lays  himself  to  sleepe, 

•  While  thro'  the  ragged  roof  and  chinky  wall, 
'Chill  o'er  his  slumbers,  piles  the  dnfty  heap  J 
'  Think  on  the  dungeon's  grim  confine, 

•  Where  guilt  and  poor  misfortune  pine  I 
'  Guilt,  erring  man,  relenting  view  ll 

•  But  shall  thy  legal  rage  pursue 


EPISTLE  TO  DAVIE. 


57 


'  The  wretch,  already  crushed  low, 
*  By  cruel  fortune's  undeserved  blow  ? 

*  Affliction's  sons  are  brothers  in  distress ; 

*  A  brother  to  relieve,  how  exquisite  the  bliss  I  * 

J  heard  nae  mair,  for  Chanticleer 

Shook  off  the  pouthery  snaw, 
And  hail'd  the  morning  with  a  cheer, 

A  cottage-rousing  craw. 

But  deep  this  truth  impress'd  my  mind — 

Thro'  all  His  works  abroad, 
The  heart  benevolent  and  kind 

The  most  resembles  God. 


EPISTLE   TO   DAVIE,  A  BROTHER  POET. 


WHILE  winds  frae  aff  Ben -Lomond  blaw, 
And  bar  the  doors  wi*  driving  snaw, 

And  hing  us  owre  the  ingle, 
1  set  me  down,  to  pass  the  time, 
And  spin  a  verse  or  twa  o'  rhyme, 

In  namely,  westlin  jingle. 
While  frosty  winds  blaw  in  the  drift, 

Ben  to  the  chimla  lug, 
I  grudge  a  wee  the  Great-folk's  gift, 
Tlmt  live  sae  bien  an'  snug  : 
I  tent  less,  and  want  less 
Their  roomy  fire-side ; 
But  hanker  and  canker, 
To  see  their  cursed  pride. 

It's  hardly  in  a  body's  pow'r, 

To  keep,  at  times,  frae  being  sour, 

To  see  how  things  are  shar'd  ; 
How  best  o'  chiels  are  whyles  in  want, 
While  coofs  on  countless  thousands  rantt 

And  ken  na  how  to  wair't : 
But,  Davie,  lad.  ne'er  fash  your  head, 

Tho'  we  hae  little  gear, 
We're  fit  to  win  our  daily  bread, 
As  lang's  we're  hale  and  fier: 
*  Mair  spier  na,  nor  fear  na,' 

Auld  age  ne'er  mind  a  feg ; 
The  last  o't,  the  warst  o't, 
Is  only  but  to  beg. 

To  lie  in  kilns  arid  barns  at  e'en, 
When  banes  are  craz'd;  and  bluid  is  thin, 
Is,  doubtless,  great  distress* » 


January— [1784]. 

Yet  then  content  could  mak  us  blest ; 
Ev'n  then,  sometimes,  we'd  snatch  a  taste 

Of  truest  happiness. 
The  honest  heart  that's  free  frae  a* 

Intended  fraud  or  guile, 
However  fortune  kick  the  ba', 
Has  ay  some  cause  to  smile  : 
And  mind  still,  you'll  find  still, 

A  comfort  this  nae  sma' ; 
Nae  mair  then,  we'll  care  then, 
Nae  farther  can  we  fa'. 

What  tho',  like  commoners  of  air, 
We  wander  out,  we  know  not  where, 

But  either  house  or  haP  ? 
Yet  nature's  charms,  the  hills  and  woods, 
The  sweeping  vales,  and  foaming  floods, 

Are  free  alike  to  all. 
In  days  when  daisies  deck  the  ground, 

And  blackbirds  whistle  clear, 
With  honest  joy  our  hearts  will  bound, 
To  see  the  coming  year  : 

On  braes  when  we  please,  then, 

We'll  sit  and  sowth  a  tune  ; 
Syne  rhyme  till* t,  we'll  time  till't, 
And  sing't  when  we  hae  done. 

It's  no  in  titles  nor  in  rank  ; 

It's  no  in  wealth  like  Lon'on  bank, 

To  purchase  peace  and  rest  ; 
It's  no  in  making  muckle,  mair  : 
It's  no  in  books,  it's  no  in  lear, 

To  make  us  truly  blest : 


58 


EPISTLE  TO  DAVIE. 


If  happiness  hae  not  her  seat 

And  centre  in  the  breast, 
We  may  be  wise,  or  rich,  or  great, 
But  never  can  be  blest : 
Nae  treasures,  nor  pleasures, 

Could  make  us  happy  lang ; 
The  heart  ay's  the  part  ay, 
That  makes  us  right  or  wrang. 

Think  ye,  that  sic  as  you  and  I, 

Wha  drudge  and  drive  thro*  wet  an'  dry, 

Wi'  never-ceasing  toil ; 
Think  ye,  are  we  less  blest  than  they, 
Wha  scarcely  tent  us  in  their  way, 

As  hardly  worth  their  while  ? 
Alas  !  how  aft  in  haughty  mood, 
God's  creatures  they  oppress  f 
Or  else,  neglecting  a'  that  s  guid, 
They  riot  in  excess ! 
Baith  careless,  and  fearless, 
Of  either  heav'n  or  hell ! 
Esteeming,  and  deeming 
It's  a'  an  idle  tale ! 

Then  let  us  cheerfu'  acquiesce ; 
Nor  malce  our  scanty  pleasures  less, 

By  pining  at  our  state  ; 
£nd,  even  should  misfortunes  come, 
I,  here  wha  sit,  hae  met  wi'  some, 

An's  thankfu'  for  them  yet. 
They  gie  the  wit  of  age  to  youth ; 

They  let  us  ken  oursel ; 
They  mak  us- see  the  naked  truth, 
The  real  guid  and  ill. 
Tho'  losses,  and  crosses, 
Be  lessons  right  severe, 
There's  wit  there,  ye'll  get  there, 
Ye'll  find  nae  other  whese. 

But  tent  me,  Davie,  ace  o'  hearts ! 
(To  say  aught  less  wad  wrarig  the  cartes, 

And  flatt'ry  I  detest) 
This  life  has  joys  for  you  and  I ; 
And  joys  that  riches  ne'er  could  buy  ; 

And  joys  the  very  best. 
There's  a'  the  pleasures  o'  the  heart, 

The  lover  an'  the  frien' ; 
Ye  hae  your  Meg,  your  dearest  part, 

And  I  my  darling  Jean  ! 


It  warms  me,  it  charms  me, 
To  mention"  but  her.name : 

It  heats  me,  it  beets  me, 
And  sets  me  a'  on  flame  ! 

O  all  ye  pow'rs  who  rule  above  ! 
O  Thou,  whose  very  self  art  love  ! 
Thou  know'st  my  words  sincere  ! 
The  life-blood  streaming  thro'  my  heart, 
Or  my  more  dear  immortal  part, 

Is  not  more  fondly  dear ! 
When  heart-corroding  care  and  grief 

Deprive  my  soul  of  rest, 
Her  dear  idea  brings  relief 
And  solace  to  my  breast 
Thou  Being,  All-seeing, 

O  hear  my  fervent  pray'r  ; 
Still  take  her,  and  make  her 
Thy  most  peculiar  care  ! 

All  hail,  ye  tender  feelings  dear  ! 
The  smile  of  love,  the  friendly  tear, 

The  sympathetic  glow  J 
Long  since,  this  world's  thorny  ways 
Had  number'd  out  my  weary  days, 

Had  it  not  been  for  you  ! 
Fate  still  has  blest  me  with  a  friend, 

In  every  care  and  ill ; 
And  oft  a  more  endearing  band, 
A  tie  more  tender  still. 
It  lightens,  it  brightens 
The  tenebrific  scene, 
To  meet  with,  and  greet  with 
My  Davie  or  my  Jean. 

O,  how  that  name  inspires  my  style ! 
The  words  come  skelpin,  rank  and  file, 

Amaist  before  I  ken  ! 
The  ready  measure  rins  as  fine, 
As  Phoebus  and  the  famous  Nine 

Were  glowrin  owre  my  pen. 
My  spaviet  Pegasus  will  limp, 

Till  ance  he's  fairly  het  ; 
And  then  he'll  hilch,  and  stilt,  and  jimp, 
A.n'  rin  an  unco  fit : 
But  lest  then,  the  beast  then, 
Should  rue  this  hasty  ride, 
I'll  light  now,  and  dight  now 
His  sweaty,  wizen'd  hide. 


THE  LAMENT. 


59 


THE  LAMENT, 

OCCASIONED  BY  THE  UNFORTUNATE  ISSUE  OF  A  FRIEND'S  AMOUR. 


Alas  I  how  of t  does  Goodness  wound  itjtelf, 

A  nd  sweet  Affection  prove  i/te  spring  of  woe  ! 


Home. 


0  THOU  pale  Orb,  that  silent  shines, 
While  care-untroubled  mortals  sleep  t 

Thou  .seest  a  wretch  that  inly  pines, 
And  wanders  here  to  wail  and  weep  I 

With  woe  I  nightly  vigils  keep, 
Beneath  thy  wan,  unwarming  beam  ; 

And. mourn,  in  lamentation  deep, 
How  life  and  love  are  all  a  dream. 

1  joyless  view  thy  rays  adorn 

The  faintly  marked,  distant  hill  f 
I  joyless  view  thy  trembling  horn, 

Reflected  in  the  gurgling  rill : 
My  fondly-fluttering  heart,  be  still ! 

Thou  busy  pow'r,Reme'mbrance,  cease ! 
Ah  !  must  the  agonizing  thrill 

For  ever  bar  returning  peace ! 

No  idly-feign'd  poetic  pains, 

My  sad,  love-lorn  lamentings  claim ; 
No  shepherd's"  pipe— ^  Arcadian  strains ; 

No  fabled  tortures,  quaint  and  tame  : 
The  plighted  faith  ;  the  mutual  flame ; 

The  oft  attested  Pow'rs  above  ; 
The  promis'd  father's  tender  name  : 

These  were  the  pledges  of  my  love  ! 

Encircled  in  her  clasping  arms, 

How  have  the  raptur'd  moments  flown! 
How  have  I  wish'd  for  fortune's  charms, 

For  her  dear  sake,  and  her's  alone  ! 
And  must  I  think  it !  is  she  gone, 

My  secret  heart's  exulting  boast  ? 
And  does  she  heedless  hear  my  groan  ? 

And  is  she  ever,  ever  lost  ? 

Oh  !'  can  she  bear  so  base  a  heart, 
'So  lost  to  honour,  lost  to  truth, 


As  from  the  fondest  lover  part, 

The  plighted  husband  of  her  youth ! 
Alas  !  life's  path  may  be  unsmooth ! 

Her  way  may  lie  thro'  rough  distress ! 
Then,  who  her  pangs  and  pains  will 
soothe, 
Her  sorrows  share,  and  make  them 
less? 

Ye  winged  hours  that  o'er  us  past, 

Enraptur'd  more,  the  more  enjoy'd, 
Your  dear  remembrance  in  my  breast, 

My    fondly-treasur'd    thoughts    em* 
ploy'd. 
That  breast,  how  dreary  now,  and  void, 

For  her  too  scanty  once  of  room  ! 
Ev'n  evry  ray  of  hope  destroy'd, 

And  not  a  wish  to  gild  the  gloom  ! 

The  morn  that  warns  th'  approaching 
day, 

Awakes  me  up  to  toil  and  woe  : 
I  see  the  hours  in  long  array, 

That  I  must  suffer,  lingering,  slow* 
Full  many  a  pang,  and  many  a  throe, 

Keen  recollection's  direful  train, 
Must  wring  my  soul,  ere  Phcebus,  low, 

Shall  kiss  the  distant,  western  main.' 

And  when  my  nightly  couch  I  try, 

Sore-harass'd  out  with  care  and  grief, 
My  toil-beat  nerves,  and  tearTworn  eye, 

Keep  watchings  with  the  nightly  thief: 
Or  if  I  slumber,  Fancy,  chief) 

Reigns,  haggard-wild,  in  sore  affright : 
Ev'n  day,  all-bitter,  brings  relief, 

From  such  a  horror-breathing  night. 


6o 


DESPONDENCY. 


O!  thou  bright  Queen,  who  o'er  th' 
expanse  [sway ! 

Now  highest  reign'st,  with  boundless 
Oft  has  thy  silent-marking  glance 

Observ'd  us,  fondly-wand'ring,  stray ! 
The  time,  unheeded,  sped  away, 

While  love's  luxurious  pulse  beat  high, 
Beneath  thy  silver-gleaming  ray, 

To  mark  the  mutual-kindling  eye. 


Oh  !    scenes   in   strong   remembrance 
set! 

Scenes,  never,  never  to  return  ! 
Scenes,  if  in  stupor  I  forget, 

Again  I  feel,  again  I  burn  ! 
From  ev'ry  joy  and  pleasure  torn, 

Life's  weaiy  vale  I'll  wander  thro' ; 
And  hopeless,  comfortless,  I'll  mourn 

A  faithless  woman's  broken  vow. 


despondency; 


AN  ODE. 


Oppress'd  with  grief,  oppress'd  with 

care, 
A  burden  more  than  I  can  bear, 

I  set  me  down  and  sigh ; 
O  life !  thou  art  a  galling  load, 
Along  a  rough,  a  weary  road, 

To  wretches  such  as  I ! 
Dim-backward  as  I  cast  my  view, 
What  sick'ning  scenes  appear  J 
What  sorrows  yet  may  pierce  me  thro', 
Too  justly  I  may  fear  ! 
StiH  caring,  despairing, 

Must  be  my  bitter  doom ; 
My  woes  here  shall  close  ne'er, 
But  with  the  closing  tomb  ! 

Happy,  ye  sons  of  busy  life, 
Who,  equal  to  the  bustling  strife, 

No  other  view  regard  ! 
Ev'n  when  the  wished  end's  deny'd, 
Yet  while  the  busy  means  are  ply'd, 

They  bring  their  own  reward  : 
Whilst  I,  a  hope-abandon'd  wight, 

Unfitted  with  an  aim, 
Meet  ev'ry  sad  returning  night, 
And  joyless  morn  the  same  ; 
You,  bustling,  and  justling, 

Forget  each  grief  and  pain  ; 
I,  listless,  yet  restless, 
Find  every  prospect  vain. 

How  blest  the  Solitary's  lot, 
Who,  all -forgetting,  all-forgot, 

Within  his  humble  cell, 
The  cavern  wild  with  tangling  roots, 
Sits  o'er  his  newly-gather  d  fruits, 

Beside  his  crystal  well  ? 


Or,  haply,  to  his  ev'ning  thought, 

By  unfrequented  stream, 
The  ways  of  men  are  distant  brought, 
A  faint-collected  dream : 
While  praising,  and  raising 

His  thoughts  to  Heav'n  on  high, 
As  wand'ring,  meand'ring, 
He  views  the  solemn  sky. 

Than  I,  no  lonely  hermit  plac'd 
Where  never  human  footstep  trac'd, 

Less  fit  to  play  the  part ; 
The  lucky  moment  to  improve, 
And  just  to  stop,  and  just  to  move, 

With  self-respecting  art : 
But  ah  !  those  pleasures,  loves,  and  joys, 

Which  I  too  keenly  taste, 
The  Solitary  can  despise, 
Can  want,  and  yet  be  blest ! 
He  needs  not,  he  heeds  not, 

Or  human  love  or  hate, 
Whilst  I  here,  must  cry  here, 
At  perfidy  ingrate ! 

Oh !  enviable,  early  days,  [maze, 

When    dancing   thoughtless    pleasure's 

To  care,  to  guilt  unknown  ! 
How  ill  exchang'd  for  riper  times, 
To  fee  the  follies,  or  the  crimes, 

Of  others,  or  my  own  ! 
Ye  tiny  elves  that  guiltless  sport, 

Like  linnets  in  the  bush, 
Ye  little  know  the  ills  yc  court, 
When  manhood  is  your  wish  ! 
The  losses,  the  crosses, 

That  active  man  engage  1 
The  fears  all,  the  tears  all, 
Of  dim-declining  age 


THE  COTTER'S  SA  TURD  A  Y  NIGHT. 


61 


WINTER. 

A   DIRGE. 


The  wintry  west  extends  his  blast, 

And  hail  and  rain  does  blaw  ; 
Or.  the  stormy  north  sends  driving  forth, 

The  blinding  sleet  and  snaw  : 
While,  tumbling  brown,  the  burn  comes, 
down, 

And  roars  frae  bank  to  brae  : 
And  bird  and  beast  in  covert  rest, 

And  pass  the  heartless  day. 

"The  sweeping  blast,  the  sky  o'ercast," 

The  joyless  winter-day, 
Let  others  fear,  to  me  more  dear 

Than  ail  the  pride  of  May  : 


The  tempest's  howl,  it  soothes  my  soul, 

My  griefs  it  seems  to  join  ; 
The  leafless  trees  my  fancy  please, 

Their  fate  resembles  mine  \ 

Thou  Pow'r   Supreme,  whose  mighty 
scheme 

These  woes  of  mine  fulfil, 
Here,  firm,  I  rest,  they  must  be  best, 

Because  they  are  Thy  will  ! 
Then  all  I  want,  (Oh  !  do  thou  grant 

This  one  request  of  mine  !) 
Since  to  enjoy  thou  dost  deny, 

Assist  me  to  resign. 


THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT. 


INSCRIBED  TO   ROBERT  AIKEN,   ESQ.   OF  AYR. 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  tlteir  use/til  toil, 
Their  Jiomely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure  ; 

Nor-  Grandeur  hear,  with  a  disdainfid  smile, 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  tJie  Poor. 

Cray. 

My  lov'd,  my  honour'd,  much  respected  friend  ! 

No  mercenary  bard  his  homage  pays  : 
With  honest  pride,  I  scorn  each  selfish  end  ; 

My  dearest  meed,  a  friend's  esteem  and  praise  : 
To  you  I  sing,  in  simple  Scottish  lays, 

The  lowly  train  in  life's  sequester'd  scene  ; 
The  native  feelings  strong,  the  guileless  ways; 

What  Aiken  in  a  cottage  would  have  been; 
Ah  •  tho'  his  worth  unknown,  far  happier  there,  I  ween. 

November  chill  blaws  loud  wi'  angry  sugh  ; 

The  short'ning  winter-day  is  near  a  close  ; 
The  miry  beasts  retreating  frae  the  pleugh  ; 

The  black'ning  trains  o'  craws  to  their  repose  : 
The  toil-worn  Cotter  frae  his  labour  goes, 

This  night  his  weekly  moil  is  at  an  end, 
Collects  his  spades,  his  mattocks,  and  his  hoes, 

Hoping  the  morn  in  ease  and  rest  to  spend, 
And  weary,  o'er  the  moor,  his  course  does  hameward  bend. 


62  THE  -CO  TTEIVS  SA  TURD  A  Y  NIGHT. 

» ■"■»■  ■  ■       i    1 1. 1 

At  length  his  lonely  cot  appears  in  view, 

Beneath  the  shelter  of  an  aged  tree; 
Th'  expectant  wee-things,  toddlin,  stacher  through 

To  meet  their  Dad,  wi'  flichterin  noise  an'  glee. 
His  wee  bit  ingle,  blinkin  bonilie, 

His  clean  hearth-stane,  his  thrifty  wine's  smile, 
The  lisping  infant  prattling  on  his  knee, 

Does  a'  his  weary  carking  cares  beguile, 
An'  makes  him  quite  forget  his  labour  an*  his  toil. 

Belyve,  the  elder  bairns  come  drapping  in, 

At  service  out,  amang  the  farmers  roun' ; 
Some  ca'  the  pleugh,  some  herd,  some  tentie  rin 

A  cannie  errand  to  a  neebor  town  : 
Their  eldest  hope,  their  Jenny,  woman -grown, 

In  youthfu'  bloom,  love  .sparkling  in  her  e"e, 
Comes  hame,  perhaps,  to  shew  a  braw  new  gown, 

Or  depOsite  her  sair-won  penny -fee, 
To  help  her  parents  dear,  if  they  in  hardship  be. 

With  joy  unfeign'd  brothers  and  sisters  meet, 

An'  each  for  other's  weelfare  kindly  spiers  : 
The  social  hours,  swift-wing'd,  mnnotic'd  fleet ; 

Each  tells  the  uncos  that  he  sees  or  hears ; 
The  parents,  partial,  eye  their  hopeful  years ; 

Anticipation  forward  points  the  view. 
The  mother,  wi'  her  needle  an*  her  sheers, 

Gars  auld  claes  look  amaist  as  weeL's  the  new  ; 
The  father  mixes  a'  wi'  admonition  due 

Their  master's  an*  their  mistress's  command!, 

The  younkers  a*  are  warned  to  obey ; 
An' mind  their  labours  wi'  an  ey  dent  hand, 

An'  ne'er,  tho*  out  o' sight,  to  jauk  or  play': 
Ah'  O  J  be  sure  to  fear  the  Lord  alway, 

*  An'  mind  your  duty,  duly,  morn  an'  night ! 
I<est  in  temptation's  path  ye  gang  astray, 

Implore  His  counsel  and  assisting  might : 
They  never  sought  in  vain  that  sought  the  Lord  aright  J' 

But  hark  !  a  rap  comes  gently  to  the  door , 

Jenny,  wha  kens  the  meaning  o'  the  same; 
Tells  how  a  neebor  lad  cam  o'er  the  moor, 

To  do  some  errands,  and  convoy  her  hame. 
The  wily  mother  sees  the  conscious  flame 

Sparkle  in  Jenny's  e'e,  and  flush  her  cheek ; 
Wi'  heart-struck,  anxious  care,  inquires  his  name, 

While  Jenny  hafflins  is  afraid  to  speak  ; 
Weel  pleas'd  the  mother  hears,  it's  nae  wild,  Worthless  rake. 

Wi'  kindly  welcome,  Jenny  brings  him  ben ; 
A  strappan  youth  ;  he  takes  the  mother's  eye; 


THE  CO  TTER  'S  SA  TURD  A  Y  NIGHT  63 

BIythe  Jenny  sees  the  visit's  no  ill  ta'en ; 

The  father  cracks  of  horses,  pleughs,  and  kye. 
The  youngster's  artless  heart  o'erflows  wi'  joy, 

But  blate  and  laithfu',  scarce  can  weel  behave ; 
The  mother,  wi'  a  woman's  wiles,  can  spy 

What  makes  the  youth  sae  bashfu'  an*  sae  grave ; 
Weel-pleas'd  to  think  her  bairn's  respected  like  the  lave. 

O  happy  love  !  where  love  like  this  is  found  ! 

O  neart-felt  raptures  !  bliss  beyond  compare  ! 
I've  paced  much  this  weary,  mortal  round, 

And  sage  experience  bids  me  this  declare — 
•  If  Heaven  a  draught  of  heavenly  pleasure  "Spare, 

One  cordial  in  this  melancholy  vale, 
Tis  when  a  youthful,  loving,  modest  pair, 

In  other's  arms  breathe  out  the  tender  tale, 
Beneath  the  milk-white  thorn  that  scents  the  ev'ning  gale. 

Is  there,  in  human  form,  that  bears  a  heart — 

A  wretch  !  a  villain  !  lost  to  love  and  truth  X 
That  ean,  with  studied,  sly,  ensnaring  art, 

Betray  sweet  Jenny's  unsuspecting  youth  ? 
Ctirse  on  his  perjur'd  arts  !  dissembling  smooth  ! 

Are  honour,  virtue,  conscience,  all  exil'd  ? 
Is  there  no  pity,  no  relenting  ruth, 

Points  to  the  parents  fondling  o'er  their  child  ? 
Then  paints  the  ruin'd  maid,  and  their  distraction  wild ! 

But  now  the  supper  crowns  their  simple  board, 

♦The  healsome  parritch,  chief  o'  Scotia's  food : 
The  soupe  their  only  Hawkie  does  afford, 

That  'yont  the  hallan  snugly  chows  her  cood ; 
The  dame  brings  forth  in  complimental  mood, 

To  grace  the  lad,  her  weel-hain'd  kebbuck,  fell. 
An*  aft  he's  prest,  an'  aft  he.ca's  it  guid ; 

The  frugal  wifie,- garrulous,  will  tell, 
How  'twas  a  towmond  auld,  sin'  lint  was  i*  the  bell. 

The  cheerfu'  supper  done,  wi'  serious  face, 

They,  round  .the  ingle,  form  a  circle  wide; 
The  sire'  turns  o'er,  wi'  patriarchal  grace, 

The  big  ha'-Bible,  ance  his  father's  pride  r 
His  bonnet  rev'rently  is  laid  aside, 

His  lyart  haffets  wearing  thin  an*  bare  ; 
Those  strains  that  once  did  sweet  in  Zion  glide, 

He  wales  a  portion  with  judicious  care, 
And  *  Let  us  worship  God  ! '  he  says,  with  solemn  air. 

They  chant  their  artless  notes  in  simple  guise ; 

They  tune  their  hearts,  by  far  the  noblest  aim  : 
Perhaps  Dundee's  wild  warbling  measures  rise, 

Or  plaintive  Martyrs,  worthy  of  the  name  ; 


r  64  THE  COTTER'S  SA  TURDA  V  NIGHT 

s 

Or  noble  Elgin  beets  the  heav  nward  flame, 

The  sweetest  far  of  Scotia's  holy  lays  : 
Compar'd  with  these,  Italian  trills  are  tame  ; 

The  tickl'd  ears  no  heartfelt  raptures  raise ; 
Nae  unison  hae  they  with  our  Creator's  praise. 

The  priest-like  father  reads  the  sacred  page, 

How  Abram  was  the  friend  of  God  on  high  ; 
Or  Moses  bade  eternal  warfare  wage 

With  Amalek's  ungracious  progeny ; 
Or  how  the  royal  Bard  did  groaning  lie 

Beneath  the  stroke  of-  Heaven  s  avenging  ire ; 
Or  Job's  pathetic  plaint,  and  wailing  cry ; 

Or  rapt  Isaiah's  wild,  seraphic  fire ; 
Or  other  holy  Seers  that  tune  the  sacred  lyre. 

Perhaps  the  Christian  volume  is  the  theme, 

How  guiltless  blood  for  guilty  man  was  shed ; 
How  He,  who  bore  in  Heaven  the  second  name, 

Had  not  on  earth  whereon  to  lay  His  head ; 
How  His  first  followers  and  servants  sped  J 

The  precepts  sage  they  wrote  to  many  a  land : 
How  he,  who  lone  in  Patmos  banished, 

Saw  in  the  sun  a  mighty  angel  stand  5 
And  heard  great  Bab'lon's  doom  pronouncM  by  Heaven  s  command. 

Then  kneeling  down,  to  Heaven's  Eternal  King, 

The  saint,  the  father,  and  the  husband  prays : 
Hope  *  springs  exulting  on  triumphant  wing, 

That  thus  they  all  shall  meet  in  future  days : 
There  ever  bask  in  uncreated  rays, 

No  more  to  sigh,  or  shed  the  bitter  tear, 
Together  hymning  their  Creator's  praise, 

In  such  society,  yet  still  more  dear ; 
"While  circling  Time  moves  round  in  an  eternal  sphere. 

Compared  with  this,  how  poor  Religion's  pride, 

In  all  the  pomp  of  method,  and  of  art, 
When  men  display  to  congregations  wide 

Devdtion's  ev*ry  grace,  except  the  heart ! 
The  Power,  incens'd,  the  pageant  will  desert, 

The  pompous  strain,  the  sacerdotal  stole. 
But  haply,  in  some  cottage  far  apart, 

May- hear;  well  pleas'd,  the  language  of  the  soul; 
And  in  his  Bodk  of  Life  the  inmates  poor  enrol. 

Then  homeward  all  take  off  their  sev'ral  way  ; 

The  youngling  cottagers  retire  to  rest : 
The  parent-pair  their  secret  homage  pay, 

And  proffer  up  to  Heav'n  the  warm  request, 
That  He  who  stills  the  raven's  clam'rous  nest, 

And  decks  the  lily  fair  in  flow'ry  pride, 


MAM  WAS  MADE  TO  MOURN. 


6S 


Would,  in  the  way  His  wisdom  sees  the  best, 
For  them  and  for  their  little  ones  provide  ; 
But  chiefly,  in  their  hearts  with  grace  divine  preside. 

from  scenes  like  these  old  Scotia's  grandeur  springs, 

That  makes  her  lov'd  at  home,  rever'd  abroad : 
Princes  and  lords  are  but  the  breath  of  kings, 

'  An  honest  man's  the  noblest  work  of  God  :' 
And  certes,  in  fair  virtue's  heavenly  road, 

The  cottage  leaves  the  palace  far  behind ; 
What  is  a  lordling's  pomp  ?  a  cumbrous  load, 

Disguising  oft  the  wretch  of  human  kind, 
Studied  in  arts  of  hell,  in  wickedness  refin'd ! 

O  Scotia  !  my  dear,  my  native  soil ! 

For  whom  my  warmest  wish  to  Heaven  is  sent ! 
Long  may  thy  hardy  sons  of  rustic  toil 

Be  blest  with  health,  and  peace,  and  sweet  content! 
And,  Oh,  may  Heaven  their  simple  Jives  prevent 

From  luxury's  contagion,  weak  and  vile ; 
Then,  howe'er  crowns  and  coronets  be  rent, 

A  virtuous  populace  may  rise  the  while, 
And  stand  a  wall  of  fire  around  their  much-lovM  Isle. 

O  Thou !  who  pour'd  the  patriotic  tide 

That  stream'd  thro'  Wallace's  undaunted  heart ; 
Who  dar'd  to,  nobly,  stem  tyrannic  pride, 

Or  nobly  die,  the  second  glorious  part, 
(The  patriot's  God,  peculiarly  thou  art, 

His  friend,  inspirer,  guardian,  and  reward  !) 
O  never,  never,  Scotia's  realm  desert, 

But  still  the  patriot,  and  the  patriot-bard, 
In  bright  succession  raise,  her  ornament  and  guard  t 


MAN  WAS  MADE  TO  MOURN. 


A  DIRGE. 


When  chill  November's  surly  blast 

Made  fields  and  forests  bare, 
One  ev'ning  as  I  wander'd  forth 

Along  the  banks  of  Ayr, 
I  spy'd  a  man,  whose  aged  step 

Seem'd  weary,  worn  with  care  ; 
His  face  was  furrow'd  o'er  with  years, 

And  hoary  was  his  hair. 

Young  stranger,  whither  wand' rest  thou  ? 

Began  the  rev' rend  Sage  ; 
Does  thirst  of  wealth  thy  step  constrain, 

Or  youthful  Dleasure's  rage  ? 
B 


Or,  haply,  prest  with  cares  and  woes^ 
Too  soon  thou  hast  began 

To  wander  forth,  with  me,  to  mourn 
The  miseries  of  Man. 

The  sun  that  overhangs  yon  moots, 

Out-spreading  far  and  wide, 
Where  hundreds  labour  to  support 

A  haughty  lordling's  pride ; 
I've  seen  yon  weary  winter-sun 

Twice  forty  times  return  ; 
And  ev'ry  time  has  added  proofs, 

That  Man  was  made  to  mourn. 


66 


A  PRAYER. 


O  man  !  while  in  thy  early  years, 

How  prodigal  of  time  ! 
Mis-spending  all  thy  precious  hours, 

Thy  glorious  youthful  prime  ! 
Alternate  follies  take  the  sway ; 

Licentious  passions  burn ; 
Which  tenfold  force  give  nature's  law, 

That  Man  was  made  to  mourn. 

Look  not  alone  on  youthful  prime, 

Or  manhood's  active  might ; 
Man  then  is  useful  to  his  kind, 

Supported  is  his  right, 
But  see  him  on  the  edge  of  life, 

With  cares  and  sorrows  worn, 
Then  age  and  want,  Oh !  ill-match'd 
pair ! 

Show  Man  was  made  to  mourn. 

A  few  seem  favourites  of  fate, 

In  pleasure's  lap  carest ; 
Yet,  think  not  all  the  rich  and  great 

Are  likewise  truly  blest. 
But,  Oh  !  what  crowds  in  ev'ry  land 

Are  wretched  and  forlorn  ; 
Thro'  weary  life  this  lesson  learn, 

That  Man  was  made  to  mourn. 

Many  and  sharp  the  num'rous  ills 

Inwoven  with  our  frame ! 
More  pointed  still  we  make  ourselves, 

Regret,  remorse,  and  shame  ! 
And  man,  whose  heaven-erected  face 

The  smiles  of  love  adorn, 
Man's  inhumanity  to  man 

Makes  countless  thousands  mourn  ! 


See  yonder  poor,  o'erlabour'd  wight, 

So  abject,  mean,  and  vile, 
Who  begs  a  brother  of  the  earth 

To  give  him  leave  to  toil ; 
And  see  his  lordly  fellow-worm 

The  poor  petition  spurn, 
Unmindful,  tho'  a  weeping  wife 

And  helpless  offspring  mourn. 

If  I'm  design'd  yon  lordling's  slave, 

By  nature's  law  design'd, 
Why  was  an  independent  wish 

E'er  planted  in  my  mind  ? 
If  not,  why  am  I  subject  to 

His  cruelty,  or  scorn  ? 
Or  why  has  man  the  will  and  pQw'r 

To  make  his  fellow  mourn  ? 

Yet,  let  not  this  too  much,  my  son, 

Disturb  thy  youthful  breast  ; 
This  partial  view  of  human-kind 

Is  surely  not  the  last ! 
The  poor,  oppressed,  honest  man, 

Had  never,  sure,  been  born, 
Had  there  not  been  some  recompense 

To  comfort  those  that  mourn ! 

0  Death !  the  poor  man's  dearest  friend, 

The  kindest  and  the  best ! 
Welcome  the  hour  my  aged  limbs 

Are  laid  with  thee  at  rest ! 
The  great,  the  wealthy,  fear  thy  blow, 

From  pomp  and  pleasure  torn ; 
But,  Oh  !  a  blest  relief  to  those 

That  weary-laden  mourn ! 


A  PRAYER,  IN  THE  PROSPECT  OF  DEATH. 


O  Thou  unknown,  Almighty  Cause 

Of  all  my  hope  and  fear  ! 
In  whose  dread  presence,  ere  an  hour, 

Perhaps  I  must  appear  ! 

If  I  have  wander'd  in  those  paths 

Of  life  I  ought  to  shun  ; 
As  something,  loudly  in  my  breast, 

Remonstrates  I  have  done ; 

Thou  know'st  that  Thou  hast  form'd  me 
With  passions  wild  and  strong ; 


And  list'ning  to  their  witching  voice 
Has  often  led  me  wrong. 

Where  human  weakness  has  come  short 

Or  frailty  stept  aside, 
Do  thou,  All-Good!  for  such  Thou  art> 

In  shades  of  darkness  hide. 

Where  with  intention  I  have  err'd, 

No  other  plea  I  have, 
But,  Thou  art  good ;  and  Goodness  still 

Delighteth  to  forgive^ 


LINES. 


67 


STANZAS   ON   THE   SAME   OCCASION. 

Why  am  I  loth  to  leave  this  earthly  scene  ? 

Have  I  so  found  it  full  of  pleasing  charms  ? 
Some  drops  of  joy  with  draughts  of  ill  between  : 

Some  gleams  of  sunshine  !mid  renewing  storms  ; 
Is  it  departing  pangs  my  soul  alarms  ? 

Or  Death's  unlovely,  dreary,  dark. abode? 
For  guilt,  for  guilt,  my  terrors  are  in  arms ; 

I  tremble  to  approach  an  angry  God, 
And  justly  smart  beneath  his  sin-avenging  rod. 

Fain  would  I  say,  ■  Forgive  my  foul  offence  !' 

Fain  promise  never  more  to  disobey  ; 
But,  should  my  Author  health  again  dispense, 

Again  I  might  desert  fair  virtue's  way ; 
Again  in  folly's  path  might  go  astray ; 

Again  exalt  the  brute,  and  sink  the  man ; 
Then  how  should  I  for  Heavenly  mercy  pray, 

Who  act  so  counter  Heavenly  mercy's  plan  ? 
Who  sin  so  oft  have  mourn' d,  yet  to  temptation  ran  ? 

O  Thou,  great  Governor  of  all  below  ! 

If  I  may  dare  a  lifted  eye  to  Thee, 
Thy  nod  can  make  the  tempest  cease  to  blow, 

And  still  the  tumult  of  the  raging  sea  : 
With  that  controlling  pow'r  assist  ev'n  me, 

Those  headlong  furious  passions  to  confine, 
For  all  unfit  I  feel  my  powers  to  be, 

To  rule  their  torrent  in  th'  allowed  line  ; 
O,  aid  me  with  Thy  help,  Omnipotence  Divine  ! 


LYING  AT  A  REVEREND  FRIEND'S  HOUSE  ONE  NIGHT 

THE  AUTHOR    LEFT   THE   FOLLOWING  VERSES  IN  THE  ROOM 
WHERE   HE  SLEPT 


0  Thou  dread  Pow'r,  who  reign 'st  above, 
I  know  Thou  wilt  me  hear  ;' 

When  for  this  scene  of  peace  and  love, 
I  make  my  pray'r  sincere. 

The  hoary  sire— the  mortal  stroke, 
Long,  long,  be  pleas'd  to  spare  ; 

To  bless  his  little  filial  flock, 
And  show  what  good  men  are. 

She,  whs  her  lovely  offspring  eyes 
With  tender  hopes  and  fears, 

O,  bless  her  with  a  mother's  joys, 
But  spare  a  mother's  tears  ! 


Theirhope,theirstay,  their  darlingyouth, 
In  manhood's  dawning  blush  , 

Bless  him,  thou  God  of  love  and  truth. 
Up  to  a  parent's  wish. 

The  beauteous,  seraph  sister-band, 

With  earnest  tears  I  pray, 
Thou  know  st  the  snares  on  ev'ry  hand, 

Guide  Thou  their  steps  alway. 

When  soon  or  late  they  reach  that;  coast, 
O'er  life's  rough  ocean  driven, 

May  they  rejoice,  no  wand'rer  lost, 
A  family  in  Heaven  ! 


6Z 


SIX  VERSES  OF  THE  NINETIETH  PSALM. 


THE   FIRST  PSALM. 


The  man,  in  life  wherever  plac'd, 

Hath  happiness  in  store, 
Who  walks  not  in  the  wicked's  way, 

Nor  learns  their  guilty  lore  : 

Nor  from  the  seat  of  scornful  pride 
Casts  forth  his  eyes  abroad, 

But,  with  humility  and  awe 
Still  walks  before  his  God. 

That  man  shall  flourish  like  the  trees 
Which  by  the  streamlets  grow ; 


The  fruitful  top  is  spread  on  high, 
And  firm  the  root  below. 

But  he  whose  blossom  buds  in  guilt 
Shall  to  the  ground  be  cast, 

And  like  the  rootless  stubble  tost, 
Before  the  sweeping  blast 

For  why  ?  that  God  the  good  adore 
Hath  giv'n  them  peace  and  rest, 

But  hath  decreed  that  wicked  men 
Shall  ne'er  be  truly  blest* 


A  PRAYER,  UNDER  THE  PRESSURE  OF  VIOLENT 

ANGUISH. 


O  Thou  great  Being  !  what  Thou  art 

Surpasses  me  to  know . 
Yet  sure  I  am,  that  known  to  Thee 

Are  all  Thy  works  below. 

Thy  creature  here  before  Thee  stands, 
All  wretched  and  distrest ; 

Yet  sure  those  ills  that  wring  my  soul 
Obey  Thy  high  behest. 


Sure,  Thou,  Almighty,  canst  not  act 

From  cruelty  or  wrath  ! 
O,  free  my  weary  eyes  from  tears, 

Or  close  them  fast  in  death  * 

But  if  I  must  afflicted  be, 

To  suit  Some  wise  design  -, 
Then,  man  my  soul  with  firm  resolves 

To  bear  and  not  repine ! 


THE  FIRST  SIX  VERSES  OF  THE  NINETIETH  PSALM. 


O  THOU,  the  first,  'the  greatest  friend 

Of  all  the  human  race  ! 
Whose  strong  right  hand  has  ever  been 

Their  stay  and  dwelling-place  ! 

Before  the  mountains  heav'd  their  heads 
Beneath  Thy  forming  hand, 

Before  this  ponderous  globe  itself 
Arose  at  Thy  command  ; 

That  pow'r  which  rais'dand  still  upholds 

This  universal  frame, 
From  countless,  unbeginning  time 

Was  ever  still  the  same. 

Those  mighty  periods  of  years 
Which  seem  to  us  so  vast, 


Appear  no  more  before  Thy  sight 
Than  yesterday  that's  past. 

Thou  giv'st  the  word ;  Thy  creature,  man, 

Is  to  existence  brought ; 
Again  Thou  say'st,  *  Ye  sons  of  men, 

Return  ye  into  nought ! ' 

Thou  laycst  them,  with  all  their  cares, 

In  everlasting  sleep  ; 
As  with  a  flood  thou  tak'st  them  off 

With  overwhelming  sweep. 

They 'flourish  like  the  morning  flowV, 

In  beauty's  pride  array'd  ; 
But  long  ere  night  cut  down  it  lies 

All  wither'd  and  decay'd. 


TO  RUIN. 


69 


TO  A  MOUNTAIN   DAISY, 

ON  TURNING  ONE  DOWN  WITH   THE  PLOUGH,    IN   APRIL,    I?86. 


Wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flow'r, 
Thou 's  met  me  in  an  evil  hour ; 
For  I  maun  crush  amang  the  stoure 

Thy  slender  stem, 
To  spare  thee  now  is  past  my  pow'r, 

Thou  bonie  gem. 

Alas !  it's  no  thy  neebor  sweet, 
The  bonie  Lark,  companion  meet ! 
Bending  thee  'mang  the  dewy  weet ! 

Wi'  sprecld'd  breast, 
When  upward-springing,  blythe,  to  greet 

The  purpling  east. 

Cauld  blew  the  bitter-biting  north 
Upon  thy  early,  humble  birth ; 
Yet  cheerfully  thou  glinted  forth 

Amid  the  storm, 
Scaice  rear'd  above  the  parent-earth 

Thy  tender  form. 

The  flaunting  flow'rs  our  gardens  yield, 
High  shelt'ring  woods  and  wa's  maun 

shield, 
But  thou,  beneath  the  random  bield 

O'  clod  or  stane, 
Adorns  the  histie  stibble-neld, 

Unseen,  alane. 

There,  in  thy  scanty  mantle  clad, 
Thy  snawie  bosom  sun-ward  spread, 


Thou  lifts  thy  unassuming  head 

In  humble  guise  ; 

But  now  the  share  uptears  thy  bed, 

And  low  thou  lies  ! 

Such  is  the  fate  of  artless  Maid, 
Sweet  flow'ret  of  the  rural  shade  I 
By  love's  simplicity  betray'd, 

And  guileless  trust, 
Till  she,  like  thee,  all  spil'd,  is  laid 

Low  i'  the  dust. 

Such  is  the  fate  of  simple  Bard, 

On  life's  rough  ocean  luckless  starred  ! 

Unskilful  he  to  note  the  card 

Of  prudent  lore, 
Till  billows  rage,  and  gales  blow  hard, 

And  whelm  him  o'er ! 

Such  fate  to  suffering  worth  is  giv'n, 
Who  long  with  wants  and  woes  has  striv'n, 
By  human  pride  or  cunning  driv'n 

To  mis'ry's  brink, 
Till  wrench'd  of  ev'ry  stay  but  Heav'n, 

He,  ruin'd,  sink ! 

Ev'n  thou  who  mourn'st  the  Daisy's  fate, 
That  fate  is  thine — no  distant  date  ; 
Stern  Ruin's  ploughshare  drives,  elate, 

Full  on  thy  bloom, 
Till  crush'd  beneath  the  furrow's  weight, 

Shall  be  thy  doom ! 


TO   RUIN. 


All  hail !  inexorable  lord  ! 

At  whose  destruction-breathing  word 

The  mightiest  empires  fall ! 
Thy  cruel,  woe-delighted  train, 
The  ministers  of  grief  and  pain, 

A  sullen  welcome,  all  ' 
With  stern-resolv'd,  despairing  eye, 

I  see  each  aimed  dart ; 
For  one  has  cut  my  dearest  tie, 
And  quivers  in  my  heart. 
Then  low'ring,  and  pouring, 

The  storm  no  more  I  dread  ; 
Tho'  thick'ning  and  black'ning 
Round  my  devoted  head. 


And,  thou  grim  pow'r,  by  life  abhorr'd; 
While  life  a  pleasure  can  afford, 
Oh  !  hear  a  wretch's  pray'r  ! 
No  more  I  shrink  appall'd,  afraid ; 
I  court,  I  beg  thy  friendly  aid, 
To  close  this  scene  of  care  ! 
When  shall  my  soul,  in  silent  peace, 

Resign  life's  jo/iess  day ; 
My  weary  heart  its  throbbings  cease, 
Cold-mould'ring  in  the  clay  ? 
No  fear  more,  no  tear  more, 

To  stain  my  lifeless  face, 
Enclasped,  and  grasped 
Within  thy  cold  embrace  ! 


70 


EPISTLE  TO  A   YOUNG  FRIEND, 


TO  MISS  LOGAN,  WITH  BEATTIE'S  POEMS, 

FOR  A  NEW  YEAR'S  GIFT,  JANUARY  I,   1787.. 


Again  the  silent  wheels  of  time 
Their  annual  round  have  driv'n, 

And  you,  tho'  scarce  in  maiden  prime, 
Are  so  much  nearer  Heav'n. 

No  gifts  have  I  from  Indian  coasts 
The  infant  year  to  hail ; 


I  send  you  more  than  India  boasts, 
In  Edwin's  simple  tale. 

Our  sex  with  guile  and  faithless  love 
Is  charg'd,  perhaps  too  true ; 

But  may,  dear  Maid,  each  lover  prove 
An  Edwin  still  to-you  I 


EPISTLE  TO  A  YOUNG  FRIEND. 


MAY,    I786. 


I  LANG  hae  thought,  my  youthfu'  friend, 

A  something  to  have  sent  you, 
Tho'  it  should  serve  nae  ither  end 

Than  just  a  kind  memento  j 
But  how  the  subject  theme  may  gang, 

Let  time  and  chance  determine  ; 
Perhaps,  it  may  turn  out  a  sang, 

Perhaps,  turn  out  a  sermon. 

Ye'll  try  the'  world  soon,  my  lad, 

And,  Andrew  dear,  believe  me, 
Ye'll  find  mankind  an  unco  squad, 

And  muckle  they  may  grieve  ye  : 
For  care  and  trouble  set  your  thought, 

Ev'n  when  your  end's  attained ; 
And  a'  your  views  may  come  to  nought, 

Where  ev'ry  nerve  is  strained. 

I'll  no  say,  men  are  villains  a' ; 

The  real,  harden'd  wicked, 
Wha  hae  nae  check  but  human  law, 

Are  to  a  few  restricked.: 
But  Och  !  mankind  are  unco  weak, 

An'  little  to  be  trusted ; 
If  self  the  wavering  balance  shake, 

It's  rarely  right  adjusted  ! 

Yet  they  wha  fa'  in  fortune's  strife, 

Their  fate  we  .should  na  censure, 
For  still  th'  important  end  of  life 

They  equally  may  answer  ; 
A  man  may  hae  an  honest  heart, 

Tho'  poortith  hourly  stare  him ; 
A  man  may  tak  a  neebor's  part, 

Yet  hae  nae  cash  to  spare  him. 


Aye  free,  aff  han'  your  story  tell, 

When  wi'  a  bosom  crony  j 
But  still  keep  something  to  yoursel 

Ye  scarcely  tell  to  ony. 
Gonceal  yoursel  as  weel's  ye  can 

Frae  critical  dissection ; 
But  keek  thro'  ev'ry  other  man, 

Wi'  sharpen'd,  sly  inspection. 

The  sacred  lowe  o'  weel-plac'd  love, 

Luxuriantly  indulge  it ; 
But  never  tempt  th'  illicit  rove, 

Tho'  naething  should  divulge  it ; 
I  wave  the  quantum  o'  the  sin, 

The  hazard  o'  concealing ; 
But  Och  !  it  hardens  a'  within, 

And  petrifies  the  feeling  ! 

To  catch  dame  Fortune's  golden  smile, 

Assiduous  wait  upon  her ; 
And  gather  gear  by  ev'ry  wile 

That's  justify'd  by  honour  ; 
Not  for  to  hide  it  in  a  hedge, 

Nor  for  a  train  attendant ; 
But  for  the  glorious  privilege 

Of  being  independent. 

The  fear  o'  hell's  a  hangman's  whip. 

To  haud  the  wretch  in  order '; 
But  where  ye  feel  your  honour  grip, 

Let  that  aye  be  your  border : 
Its  slightest  touches,  instant  pause — 

Debar  a'  side  pretences  ; 
And  resolutely  keep  its  laws, 

Uncaring  consequences. 


ON  A  SCOTCH  BARD. 


7i 


The  great  Creator  to  revere, 

Must  sure  become  the  creature  ; 
But  still  the  preaching  cant  forbear, 

And  ev'n  the  rigid  feature  : 
Yet  ne'er  with  wits  profane  to  range, 

Be  Complaisance  extended ; 
An  Atheist-laugh's  a  poor  exchange 

For  Deity  offended ! 

When  ranting  round  in  pleasureVring, 

Religion  may  be  blinded ; 
Or  if  she  gie  a  random  sting, 

It  may  be  little  minded ; 


But  when  on  life  we're  tempest-driv'n, 
A  conscience  but  a  canker — 

A  correspondence  fix'd  wi'  Heav'n 
Is  sure  a  noble  anchor  ! 

Adieu,  dear,  amiable  Youth  ! 

Your  heart  can  ne'er  be  wanting ! 
May  prudence,  fortitude,  and  truth, 

Erect  your  brow  undaunting ! 
In  ploughman  phrase,  *  God  send  you 

Still  daily  to  grow  wiser  ;       [speed,* 
And  may  ye  better  reck  the  rede, 

Than  ever  did  th*  Adviser  1 


ON  A  SCOTCH  BARD,  GONE  TO  THE  WEST  INDIES. 


A'  YE  wha  live  by  sowps  o*  drink, 
A'  ye  wha  live  by  crambo-clink, 
A'  ye  wha  live  an'  never  think, 

Come  mourn  wi'  me  ! 
Our  billie's  gi'en  us  a'  a  jink, 

An'  owre  the  sea. 

Lament  him  a'  ye  rantin  core, 
Wha  dearly  like  a  randomrsplore, 
Nae  mair  he'll  join  the.  merry  roar,- 

In  social  key ; 
For  now  he's  taen  anither  shore, 

An'  owre  the  sea  I 

The  bonie  lasses  weel  may  wiss  him, 
And  in  their  dear  petitions  place  him  : 
The  widows,  wives,  an'  a'  may  bless  him, 

Wi'  tearfu'  e'e ; 
For  weel  I  wat  they'll  sairly  miss  him 

That's  owre  the  sea  ! 

0  Fortune,  they  hae  room  to  grumble  ! 

1  ladst  thou  taen  aff  some  drowsy  bummle, 
vVha  can  do  nought  but  fyke  a'n'  fumble, 

'Twad  been  nae  plea ; 
But  he  was  gleg  as  onie  wumble, 

That's  owre  the  sea ! 

Auld,  cantie  Kyle  may  weepers  wear, 
An'  stain  them  wi*  the  saut,  saut  tear  : 
'Twill  mak  her  poor,  auld  heart,  I  fear, 

In  flinders  flee  ; 
He  was  her  Laureat  monie  a  year 

That's  owre  the  sea  ! 


He  saw  misfortune's  cauld  nor-west 
Lang  mustering  up  a  bitter  blast ; 
A  jillet  brak  his  heart  at  last, 

111  may  she  be ! 
So,  took  a  berth  afore  the  mast, 

An'  owre  the  sea. 

To  tremble  under  Fortune's  cummock, 
On  scarce  a  bellyfu'  o'  drummock, 
Wi'  his  proud,  independent  stomach, 

Could  ill  agree ; 
So,  row't  his  hurdies  in  a  hammock, 

An'  owre  the  sea. 

He  ne'er  was  gi'en  to  great  misguidin*, 
Yet  coin  his  pouches  wad  na  bide  in ; 
Wi'  him  it  ne'er  was  under  hidin', 

He  dealt  it  free  : 
The  Muse  was  a'  that  he  took  pride  in, 

That's  owre  the  sea. 

Jamaica  bodies,  use  him  weel, 
An'  hap  him  in  a  cozie  biel ; 
Ye'll  find  him  ay'  a  dainty  chiel, 

And  fu'  o'  glee ; 
He  wad  na  wrang'd  the  vera  deil, 

That's  owre  the  sea. 

Fareweel,  my  rhyme-composing  billie ! 
Your  native  soil  was  right  ill-willie; 
But  may  ye  flourish  like  a  lily, 

Now  bonilie  ! 
I'll  toast  ye  in  my  hindmost  gillie, 

Tho*  owre  the  seal. 


72 


A  DEDICATION. 


TO  A  HAGGIS. 


Fair  fa*  your  honest,  sonsle  face, 
Great  chieftain  o'  the  puddin-race  ! 
Aboon  them  a*  ye  tak  your  place, 

Painchi  tripe,  or  thairm  : 
Weel  are  ye  wordy  o'  a  grace 

As  lang's  my  arm. 

The  groaning  trencher  there  ye  fill, 
Your  hurdies  like  a  distant  hill, 
Your  pin  wad  help  to  mend  a  mill 

In  time  o'  need, 
While  thro'  your  pores  the  dews  distil 

like  amber  bead. 

His  knife  see  rustic  labour  dight, 
An'  cut  you  up  wi'  ready  slight, 
Trenching  your  gushing  entrails  bright 

Like  onie  ditch ; 
And  then,  O  what  a  glorious  sight, 

Warm-reekin,  rich  ! 

Then,  horn  for  horn  they  stretch  an' 

strive, 
Deil  tak  the  hindmost,  orr  they  drive, 
Till  a'  their  weel-swall'd  kytes  belyve 

Are  bent  like  drums ; 
Then  auld  guidman,  maist  like  to  rive, 

Bethankit  hums. 


Is  there  that  o'er  his  French  ragout, 
Or  oho  that  wad  staw  a  sow, 
Or  fricassee  wad  mak  her  spew 

Wi'  perfect  sconner, 
Looks  down  wi'  sneering,  .scornfu'  view 

On  sic  a  dinner '! 

Poor  devil !  see  him  owre  his  trash, 

As  feckless  as  a  wither'd  rash, 

His  spindle  shank  a  guid  whip-lash, 

His  nieve  a  nit : 
Thro'  bloody  flood  or  field  to  dash, 

O  how  unfit \ 

But  mark  the  rustic,  haggis-fed, 

The  trembling  earth  resounds  his  tread, 

Clap  in  his  walie  nieve  a  blade, 

He'll  mak  it  whissle ; 
An'  legs,  an'  arms,  an'  heads  will  sned, 

Like  taps  o'  thrissle. 

Ye  Pow'rs,  wha  mak  mankind  your  care, 
And  dish  them  out  their  bill  o'  fare, 
Auld  Scotland  wants  nae  stinking  ware 

That  jaups  in  luggies ; 
But,  if  ye  wish  her  gratefu'  prayer, 

Gie  her  a  Haggis ! 


A  DEDICATION  TO  GAVIN   HAMILTON,  ESQ. 


Expect  na,  Sir,  in  this  narration, 
A  fleechin,  fleth'rin  Dedication, 
To  roose  you  up,  an'  ca'  you  guid, 
An'  sprung  o'  great  an'  noble  bluid, 
Because  ye're  sirnam'd  like  his  Grace, 
Perhaps  related  to  the  race  ; 
Then  when  I'm  tir'd — and  sae  are  ye, 
*Wi'  mony  a  fulsome,  sinfu'  lie, 
Set  up  a  face,  how  I  stop  short, 
For  fear  your  modesty  be  hurt. 

This  may  do^-maun  do,  Sir,  wi'  them 
wha  [fou ; 

Maun  please  the  great  folk  for  a  vvame- 
-For  me  !  sae  laigh  I  needna  bow, 


For,  Lord  be  thankit,  I  can  plough  ; 
And  when  I  downa  yoke  a  naig* 
Then,  Lord  be  thankit,  I  can  beg ; 
Sae  I  shall  say,,  an'  that's  nae  flatt'rin, 
It's  just  sig  Poet  an'  sic  Patron. 

The  Poet,  some  guid  angel  help  him, 
Or  else,  I  fear,  some  ill  ane  skelp  him  ! 
He  may  do  weel  for  a'  he's  done  yet, 
But  only — he's  no  just  begun  yet. 

The  Patron  (Sir,  ye  maun  forgie  me, 
I  winna  lie,  come  what  will  o*  me), 
On  ev'ry  hand  it  will  allow'd  be, 
He's  iust — nae  better  than  he  should  be. 


A  DEDICATION. 


73 


I  readily  and  freely  grant, 
He  dowha  see  a  poor  man  want ; 
What's  no  his  ain  he  winna  tak  it, 
What  ance  he  says  he  winna  break  it ; 
Ought  he  can  lend  he'll  not  refus't, 
Till  aft  his  guidness  is  abus'd  ; 
And  rascals  whyles  that  do  him  wrang, 
Ev'n  that,  he  does  na  mind  it  lang : 
As  master,  landlord,  husband,  father, 
He  does  na  fail  his  part  in  either. 

But  then,  nae  thanks  to  him  for  a 
that ;' 
Nae  godly  symptom  ye  can  ca'  that ; 
It's  naething  but  a  milder  feature 
Of  our  poor,  sinfu',  corrupt  nature  : 
Ye '11  get  the  best  o'  moral  works, 
*Mang  black  Gentoos  and  pagan  Turks, 
Or  hunters  wild  on  Ponotaxi, 
Wha  never  heard  of  orthodoxy. 
That  he's  the  poor  man's  friend  in  need, 
The  gentleman  in  word  and  deed, 
It's  no  thro*  terror  of  damnation  ; 
It's"  just  a  carnal  inclination. 

Morality,  thou  deadly  bane, 
Thy  tens  o'  thousands  thou  hast  slain  ! 
Vain  is  his  hope,  whase  stay  and  trust  is 
In  moral  mercy,  truth,  and  justice  ! 

No — stretch  a  point  to  catch  a  plack  ; 
Abuse  a  brother  to  his  back ; 
Steal  thro'  the  winnock  frae  a  whore. 
But  point  the  rake  that  taks  the  door  : 
Be  to  the  poor  like  onie  whunstane, 
And  haud  their  noses  to  the  grunstane, 
Ply  ev'ry  art  o'  legal  thieving ; 
No  matter — stick  to  sound  believing. 

Learn  three-mile  pray'rs,    an'    half- 
mile  graces, 
Wi'  weel-spread  looves,  an'  lang,  wry 

faces  ; 
Grunt  up  a  solemn,  lengthen'd  groan, 
And  damn  a'  parties  but  your  own  ; 
I'll  warrant  then,  ye 're  nae  deceiver, 
A  steady,  sturdy,  staunch  believer. 

O  ye  wha  leave  the  springs  of  Calvin, 
For  gumlie  dubs  of  your  ain  delvin  ! 
Ye  sons  of  heresy  and  error, 
Ye'll  some  day  squeel  in  qu  king  terror ! 


When  vengeance  draws  the  sword  in 

wrath, 
And  in  the  fire  throws  the  sheath ; 
When  Ruin,  with  his  sweeping  besom, 
Just  frets  till  Heav'n  commission  gies 

him : 
While  o'er  the  harp  pale  mis'ry  moans,  ) 
And  strikes  the  ever-deep'ning  tones,  > 
Still  louder  shrieks,  and  heaviergroans ! ) 

Your  pardon,  Sir,  for  this  digression, 
I  maist  forgat  my  Dedication ; 
But  when  divinity  comes  'cross  me, 
My  readers  still  are  sure  to  lose. me. 

So,  Sir,  ye  see  'twas  nae  daft  vapour, 
But  I  maturely  thought  it  proper, 
When  a'  my  works  I  did  review, 
To  dedicate  them,  Sir,  to  You  : 
Because  (ye  need  na  tak  it  ill) 
I  thought  them  something  like  yoursel. 

Then  patronize  them  wi'  your  favour, 
And  your  petitioner  shall  ever — 
I  had  amaist  said,  ever  pray  : 
But  that's  a  word  I  need  na  say  : 
For  prayin  I  hae  little  skill  o't ; 
I'm  baith   dead-sweer,    an'    wretched 

ill  o't ; 
But  I'se  repeat  each  poor  man's  pray'r, 
That  kens  or  hears  about  you,  Sir. — 

*  May  ne'er  misfortune's  gowling  bark 
Howl  thro'  the  dwelling  o'  the  Clerk  * 
May  ne'er  his  gen'rous,  honest  heart, 
For  that  same  gen'rous  spirit  smart ! 
May  Kennedy's  far-honour'd  name 
Lang  beet  his  hymeneal  flame, 
Till  Hamiltons,  at  least  a  dizen, 
Are  frae  their  nuptial  labours  risen  : 
Five  bonie  lasses  round  their  table, 
And  seven  braw  fellows,  stout  an'  able, 
To  serve  their  King  and  Country  weel, 
By  word,  or  pen,  or  pointed  steel  ! 
May  health  and  peace,  with  mutual  rays, 
Shine  on  the  evening  o'  his  days; 
Till  his  wee,  curlie  John's  ier-oe,  ) 

When  ebbing  life  nae  mair  shall  flow,  > 
The  last,  sad,  mournful  rites  bestow  ! '  ) 

I  will  not  wind  a  lang  conclusion, 
Wi'  complimentary  effusion  : 


74 


TO  A  LOUSE. 


But  whilst  your  wishes  and  endeavours 
Are  blest  with  Fortune's  smiles  and 

favour^, 
I  am,  dear  Sir,  with  zeal  most  fervent, 
Your  much  indebted,  humble  servant. 

But  if  (which  Pow'rs  above  prevent) 
That  iron-hearted  carl,  Want, 
Attended  in  his  grim  advances, 
By  sad  mistakes,  and  black  mischances, 
While  hopes,  and  joys,  and  pleasures 
fly  him, 


Make  you  as  poor  a  dog  as  I  am, 
Your  humble  servant  then  no  more ; 
For  who  would  humbly  serve  the  poor  ? 
But,  by  a  poor  man's  hopes  in  Heav'n  ! 
While  recollection's  pow'r  is  given, 
If,  in  the  vale  of  humble  life, 
The  victim  sad  of  fortune's  strife, 
I,  thro'  the  tender  gushing  tear, 
Should  recognise  my  Master  dear, 
If  friendless,  low,  we  meet  together, 
Then,  Sir,  your  hand — my  Friend  and 
Brother ! 


TO  A  LOUSE,  ON  SEEING  ONE  ON  A  LADY'S  BONNET, 
AT  CHURCH. 


Ha  !  whare  ye  gaun,  ye  crowlin  ferlie  ! 
Your  impudence  protects  you  sairly  : 
I  canna  say  but  ye  strunt  rarely, 

Owre  gauze  and  lace ; 
Tho'  faith,  I  fear  ye  dine  but  sparely 

On  sic  a  place. 

Ye  ugly,  creepin,  blastit  wonner, 
Detested,  shunn'd  by  saunt  an'  sinner, 
How  dare  ye  set  your  fit  upon  her, 

Sae  fine  a  lady ! 
Gae  somewhere  else,   and  seek  your 
dinner 

On  some  poor  body. 

Swith,  in, some  beggar's  haffet  squattle  ; 
There  ye  may  creep,  and  sprawl,  and 

sprattle 
Wi'  ither  kindred,  jumping  cattle, 

In  shoals  and  nations  ; 
Whare  horn  nor  bane  ne'er  dare  unsettle 
Your  thick  plantations. 

Now  haud  ye  there,  ye're  out  o*  sight, 
Below  the  fatt!rels,  snug  an'  tight ; 
Na,  faith  ye  yet !  ye'll  no  be  right 

Till  ye've  got  on  it, 
The  vera  tapmost,  tow' ring  height 

O'  Miss's  bonnet. 


My  sooth  ;  right  bauld  ye  set  your  nose 

out, 
As  plump  and  gray  as  onie  grozet ; 

0  for  some  rank,  mercurial  rozet, 

Or  fell,  red  smeddum, 
I'd  gie  you  sic  a  hearty  doze  o't, 

Wad  dress  your  droddum  \ 

1  wad  na  been  surpris'd  to  spy 
You  on  an  auld  wife's  flainen  toy; 
Or  aiblins  some  bit  duddie  boy, 

On 's  wyliecoat ; 
But  Miss's  fine  Lunardi !  fie, 

How  daur  ye  do't  ? 

O,  Tenny,  dinna  toss  your  head, 
An  set  your  beauties  a'  abread  ! 
Ye  little  ken  what  cursed  speed 

The  blastie's  makin ! 
Thae  winks  and  finger-ends,  I  dread, 

Are  notice  takin ! 

v 

O  wad  some  Pow'r  the  giftie  gie  us 
To  see  oursels  as  others  see  us  ! 
It,  wad  frae  monie  a  blunder  free  us 

And  foolish  notion : 
What  airs  in  dress  an'  gait  wad  lea'e  us, 

And  ev'n  Devotion  ! 


EPISTLE  TO  JOHN  LAPRAIK. 


n 


«4 


ADDRESS    TO    EDINBURGH. 


EDINA  !  Scotia's  darling  seat ! 

All  hail  thy  palaces  and  tow'rs, 
Where  once  beneath  a  monarch's  feet 

•Sat  Legislation's  sov'reign  pow'rs  ! 
From  marking  wildly-scatter'd  flow'rs, 

As  on  the  banks  of  Ayr  I  stray'd, 
And  singing,  lone,  the  ling'ring  hours, 

I  shelter  in  thy  honour'd  shade. 

Here  Wealth  still  swells  the  golden  tide, 

As  busy  Trade  his  labours  plies  ; 
There  Architecture's  noble  pride 

Bids  elegance  and  splendour  rise  ; 
Here  Justice,  from  her  native  skies, 

High  wields  her  balance  and  her  rpd ; 
There  Learning,  with  his  eagle  eyes, 

Seeks  Science  in  her  coy  abode. 

Thy  sons,  Edina,  social,  kind, 

With  open  arms  the  stranger  hail ; 
Their  views  enlarg'd,  their  lib'ral  mind, 

Above  the  narrow,  rural  vale  ; 
Attentive  still  to  sorrow's  wail, 

Or  modest  merit's  silent  claim  : 
And  never  may  their  sources  fail ! 

And  never  envy  blot  their  name  ! 

Thy  daughters  bright  thy  walks  adorn, 

Gay  as  the  gilded  summer  sky, 
Sweet  as  the  dewy  milk-white  thorn, 

Dear  as  the  raptur'd  thrill  of  joy  ! 
Fair  Burnet  strikes  th'  adoring  eye, 

Heaven's  beauties  on  my  fancy  shine  , 
I  see  the  Sire  of  Love  on  high, 

And  own  his  work  indeed  divine  ! 


There  watching  high  the  least  alarms, 

Thy  rough,  rude  fortress  gleams  afar ; 
Like  some  bold  vet'ran,  gray  in  arms, 

And  mark'd  with  many  a  seamy  scar : 
The  pond'rous  wall  and  massy  bar, 

Grim-rising  o'er  the  rugged  rock, 
Have  oft  withstood  assailing  war, 

And  oft  repell'd  th'  invader's  shock. 

With  awe-struck  thought,  and  pitying 
tears, 

I  view  that  noble,  stately  dome, 
Where  Scotia's  kings  of  other  years, 

Fam'd  heroes,  had  their  royal  home  : 
Alas,  how  chang'd  the  times  to  come  !' 

Their  royal  name  low  in  the  dust ! 
Their  hapless  race  wild-wand 'ring  roam ! 

Tho'  rigid  law  cries  out,  'twas  just ! 

Wild  beats  my  heart,  to  trace  your  steps, 

Whose  ancestors,  in  days  of  yore, 
Thro'  hostile  ranks  and  ruin'd  gaps 

Old  Scotia's  bloody  lion  bore  : 
Ev'n  I  who  sing  in  rustic  lore, 

Haply  my  sires  have  left  their  shed, 
And  fac'd  grim  danger's  loudest  roar, 

Bold-following  where  your  fathers  led! 

Edina  !  Scotia's  darling  seat  t 

All  hail  thy  palaces  and  tow'rs, 
Where  once  beneath  a  monarch's  feet 

Sat  Legislation's  sov'reign  pow'rs  ! 
From  marking  wildly-scatter'd  flow'rs, 

As  on  the  banks  of  Ayr  I  stray'd, 
And  singing,  lone,  the  ling'ring  hours, 

I  shelter  in  thy  honour'd  shade. 


EPISTLE  TO  JOHN   LAPRAIK,   AN   OLD   SCOTTISH   BARD. 

April  i,  1785- 


woodbines  budding 


While  briers  an 

green, 
An'  paitricks  scraichin  loud  at  e'en, 
An'  morning  poussie  whiddin  seen, 

Inspire  my  Muse, 
This  freedom,  in  an  unknown  frien' 

I  pray  excuse.. 


On  Fasten-een  we  had  a  rockin, 

To  ca'  the  crack  and  weave  our  stock- 

in; 
And  there  was  muckle  fun  and  jokin, 

Ye  need  na  doubt ; 
At  length  we  had  a  hearty  yokin 

At  sang  about 


76 


EPISTLE  TO  JOHN  LAPSATJC 


There  was  ae  sang,  amang  the  rest, 
Aboon  them  a'  it  pleas'd  me  best, 
That  some  kind  husband  had  addrest 

To  some  sweet  wife  t 
It   thirl'd  the   heart-strings  thro7  the 
breast, 

A'  to  the  life. 

I've  scarce  heard  ought  describ'd  sae 

weel, 
What  gen'rous,  manly  bosoms  feel ; 
Thought  I, '  Can  this  be  Pope,  or  Steele, 

Or  Beattie's  wark ! ' 
They  tald  me  'twas  an  odd  kind  chiel 

About  Muirkirk. 

It  pat  me  fidgin-fain  to  hear't. 
And  sae  about  him  there  I  spier't ; 
Then  a'  that  ken'd  him  round  declar'd 

He  had  ingine, 
That  nane  excell'd  it,  few  cam  near't, 

It  was  sae  fine. 

That,  set  him  to  a  pint  of  ale, 

An*  either  douce  or  merry  tale, 

Or  rhymes  an*  sangs  he'd  made  himsel, 

Or  witty  catches, 
'Tween  Inverness  and  Tiviotdale, 

Jle  had  few  matches. 

Then  up  I  gat,  an'  swoor  an  aith, 
Tho'  I  should  pawn  my  pleugh  and 

graith, 
Or  die  a  cadger  pownie  s  death, 

At  some  dyke-back, 
A  pint  an'  gill  I'd  gie  them  baith 

To  hear  your  crack. 

But,  first  an'  foremost,  I  should  tell, 
Amaist  as  soon  as  I  could  spell, 
I  to  the  crambo-jingle  fejl, 

Tho'  rude  an'  rough, 
Yet  crooning  to  a  body's  sel, 

Does  weel  eneugh. 

I  am  nae  Poet,  in  a  sense, 

But  just  a  Rhymer,  like,  by  chance, 

An'  hae  to  learning  nae  pretence, 

; Yet,  what  the  matter  ? 
Whene'er  my  Muse  does  on  me  glance, 

I  jingle  at  her. 


Your  critic-folk  may  cock  their  nose,. 
And  say,  '  How  can  you  e'er  propose, 
You  wha  ken  hardly  verse  frae  prose, 

To  mak  a  sang  ? ■ 
But,  by  your  leaves,  my  learned  foes, 

Ye're  maybe  wrang. 

ghat's  a'  your  jargon  o'  your  schools, 
Your  Latin  names  for  horns  an'  stools  ; 
If  honest  nature  made  you  fools, 

What  sairs  your  grammars  ? 
Ye'd  better  ta'en  up  spades  and  shools, 

Or  knappin-hammers. 

A  set  o'  dull,  conceited  hashes, 
Confuse  their  brains  in  college  classes  ! 
They  gang  in  stirks,  and  come  out  asses, 

Plain  truth  to  speak ; 
An'  syne  they  think  to  climb  Parnassus 

By  dint  o'  Greek] 

Gie  me  ae  spark  o'  Nature's  fire, 
That's  a'  the  learning  I  desire  ; 
Then  tho'  I  drudge  thro'  dub  an'  mire 

At  pleugh  pr  cart, 
My  Muse,  though  hamely  in  attire, 

May  touch  the  heart. 

0  for  a  spunk  o'  Allan's  glee, 

Or  Ferguson's,  the  bauld  an'  slee, 
Or  bright  Lapraik's,  my  friend  to  be, 

If  I  can  hit  it ! 
That  would  be  lear  eneugh  for  me, 

If  I  could  get  it. 

Now,  Sir,  if  ye  hae  friends  enow, 
Tho'  real  friends,  I  b'lieve,  are  few, 
Yet,  if  your  catalogue  be  fou, 

I'se  no  insist, 
But  git  ye  want  ae  friend  that's  true, 

I'm  on  your  list 

1  winna  blaw  about  mysel, 
As  ill  I  like  my  fauts  to  tell  J 

But  friends,  anVfolks  that  wish  me  well, 
They  sometimes  roose  me  ; 

Tho'  I  maun  own,  as  monie  still 
As  far  abuse  me. 

There's  ae  wee  faut  they  whiles  lay  to  me, 
I  like  the  lasses — Gude  forgie  me ! 
For  monie  a  plack  they  wheedle  frae  me. 


EPISTLE  TO  JOHN'  LAPRAIK. 


77 


At  dance  or  fair ; 
Maybe  some  ither  thing  they  gie  me 
They  weel  can  spare. 

But  Mauchline  race,  or  Mauchline  fair, 
I  should  be  proud  to  meet  you  there  ; 
We'se  gie  ae  night's  discharge  to  care, 

If  we  forgather, 
An'  hae  a  swap  o'  rhymin-ware 

Wi'  ane  anither. 

The  four-gill  chap,  we'se  gar  him  clatter, 
An'  kirsen  him  wi'  reekin  water ; 
Syne  we'll  sit  down  an'  tak  our  whitter, 

To  cheer  our  heart ; 
An'  faith,  we'se  be  acquainted  better 

Before  we  part. 

Awa,  ye  selfish,  warly  race, 

Wha  think  that  havins,  sense,  an'  grace, 


Ev'n  love  an'  friendship,  should  give 
place 

To  catch-the-plack ! 
I  dinna  like  to  see  your  face, 

Nor  hear  your  crack. 

But  ye  whom  social  pleasure  charms, 
Whose  hearts  the  tide  of  kindness  warms, 
Who  hold  your  being  on  the  terms, 

•  Each  aid  the  others,' 
Come  to  my  bowl,  come  to  my  arms, 

My  friends,  my  brothers ! 

But  to  conclude  my  lang  epistle, 
As_my  auld  pen's  worn  to  the  grissle ; 
Twa  lines  frae  you  wad  gar  me  fissle, 

Who  am,  most  fervent, 
While  I  can  either  sing,  or  whissle. 

Your  friend  and  servant. 


TO  THE  SAME. 


April  at,  1785. 


While  new-ca'd  kye  rowte  at  the  stake, 
An'  pownies  reek  in  pleugh  or  braik, 
This  hour  on  e'enin's  edge  I  take, 

To  own  I'm  debtor, 
To  honest-hearted,  auld  Lapraik, 

For  his  kind  letter. 

Forjesket  sair,  with  weary  legs, 
Rattlin  the  corn  out-owre  the  rigs, 
Or  dealing  thro'  amang  the  naigs 

Their  ten-hours'  bite 
My  awkart  Muse  sair  pleads  and  begs, 

I  would  na  write. 

The  tapetless,  ramfeezl'd  hizzie, 
She's  saft  at  best,  and  something  lazy, 
Quo'  she,  *  Ye  ken,  we've  been  sae  busy, 

This  month  an'  mair, 
That  trouth  my  head  is  grown  quite 
dizzie, 

An'  something  sair.' 

Her  dowff  excuses  pat  me  mad  ; 

'  Conscience,'  says  I,  'ye  thowless  jad  I 

I'll  write,  an'  that  a  hearty  blaud, 

This  vera  night ; 
So  dinna  ye  affront  your  trade, 

But  rhyme  it  right. 


'  Shall  bauld  Lapraik,  the  king  o'  hearts, 
Tho'  mankind  were  a  pack  o  cartes, 
Roose  you  sae  weel  for  your  deserts, 

In  terms  sae  friendly, 
Yet  ye'lt  neglect  to  shaw  your  parts, 

An'  thank  him  kindly ! ' 

Sae  I  gat  paper  in  a  blink, 

An'  down  gaed  stumpie  in  the  ink : 

Quoth  I,  '  Before  I  sleep  a  wink, 

I  vow  I'll  close  it ; 
An'  if  ye  winna  mak  it  clink, 

By  Jove  I'll  prose  it ! ' 

Sae  I've  begun  to  scrawl,  but  whether^ 
In  rhyme,  or  prose,  or  baith  thegither, 
Or    some    hotch-potch    that's    rightly 
neither, 

Let  time  mak  proof; 
But  I  shall  scribble  down  some  blether 

Just  clean  aff-loof. 

My  worthy  friend,  ne'er  grudge  an'  carp, 
Tho'  fortune  use  you  hard  an'  sharp  ; 
Come,  kittle  up  your  moorland  harp 

Wi'  gleesome  touch  ! 
Ne'er  mind  how  fortune  waft  an'  warp ; 

She's  but  a  bitch. 


78 


TO  WILLIAM  SIMPSON. 


She's  gien  me  monie  a  jirt  an'  fleg, 
Sin'  I  could  striddle  owre  a,  rig ; 
But,  by  the  Lord,  tho'  I  should  beg 

Wi'  lyart  pow, 
I'll  laugh,  an'  sing,  an'  shake  my  leg, 

As  lang's  I  dow  ! 

Now  comes  the  sax  an'  twentieth  simmer, 
I've  seen  the  bud  upo'  the  timmer, 
Still  persecuted  by  the  limmer 

Frae  year  to  year : 
But  yet,  despite  the  kittle  kimmer, 

I/Rob,  am  here. 

Do  ye  envy  the  city  Gent, 

Behind  a  kist  to  lie  an'  sklent, 

Or  purse-proud,  big  wi'  cent  per  cent ; 

An'  muckle  wame, 
In  some  bit  Brugh  to  represent 

A  Bailie's  name,? 

Or  is't  the  paughty,  feudal  Thane, 
Wi'  ruffl'd  sark  an'  glancing  cane, 
Wha  thinks  himsel  nae  sheep-shank  bant, 

But  lordly  stalks, 
While  caps  and  bonnets  aff  are  taen, 

As  by  he  walks  ?. 

'  O  Thou  wha  gies  us  each  guid  gift ! 

Gie  me  o'  wit  an'  sense  a  lift, 

Then  turn  me,  if  Thou  please,  adrift, 

Thro'  Scotland  wide ; 
Wi'  cits  nor  lairds  I  wadna  shift, 

In  a'  their  pride ! ' 


Were  this  the  charter  of  our  state, 
1  On  pain  o'  hell  be  rich  an'  great,' 
Damnation  then  would  be  our  fate, 

Beyond  remead ; 
But,  thanks  to  Heaven !  that's  no  the  gate 

We  learn  our  creed. 

For  thus  the  royal  mandate  ran, 
When  first  the  human  race  began, 
*  The  social,  friendly,  honest  man, 

Whate'er  he  be, 
'Tis  he  fulfils  great  Nature's  plan, 

And  none  but  he  ! ' 

O  mandate  glorious  and  divine  ! 
The  followers  of  the  ragged  Nine, 
Poor,  thoughtless  devils !  yet  may  shine, 

In  glorious  light, 
While  sordid  sons  of  Mammon's  line 

Are  dark  as  night. 

Tho'  here  they  scrape,  an'  squeeze,  an* 

growl, 
Their  worthless  nievefu'  of  a  soul 
May  in  some  future  carcase  howl, 

The  forest's  fright ; 
Or  in  some  day-detesting  owl 

May  shun  the  light. 

Then  may  Lapraik  and  Burns  arise, 
To  reach  their  native,  kindred  skies, 
And  sing  their  pleasures,  hopes,  an'  joys, 

In  some  mild  sphere, 
Still  closer  knit  in  friendship's  ties 

Each  passing  year ! 


TO  WILLIAM  SIMPSON. 


I  GAT  your  letter,  winsome  Willie ; 
Wi'  gratefu'  heart  I  thank  you  brawlie ; 
Tho'  I  maun  say't,  I  wad  be  silly, 

An'  unco  vain, 
Should  I  believe,  my  coaxin  billie, 

Your  flatterin  strain. 


OCHILTREE. 

May,  1785. 

My  senses  wad  be  in  a  creel, 
Should  I  but  dare  a, hope  to  speel, 
Wi'  Allan,  or  wi'  Gilbertfield, 

The  braes  o'  fame  ; 
Or  Ferguson,  the  writer-chiel, 

A  deathless  name. 


But  I'se  believe  ye  kindly  meant  it, 
I  sud  be  laith  to  think  ye  hinted 
Irortic  satire,  sidelins  sklented 

On  my  poor  Musie ; 
Tho*  in  sic  phraisin  terms  ye've  penn'd  it, 

I  scarce  excuse  ye. 


(O  Ferguson  !  thy  glorious  parts 

111  suited  law's  dry,  musty  arts  ! 

My  curse  upon  your  whunstane  hearts, 

Ye  Enbrugh  Gentry ! 
The  tythe  o'  what  ye  waste  at  cartes 

Wad  stow'd  his  pantry  !) 


TO  WILLIAM  SIMPSON. 


79 


Yet  when  a  -tale  comes  i'  my  head, 

Or  lasses  gie  my  heart  a  screed, 

As  whiles  they're  like  to  be  my  dead, 

(O  sad  disease !) 
I  kittle  up  my  rustic  reed ; 

It  gies  me  ease. 

Auid  Coila,  now,  may  fidge  fit'  fain, 

She's  gotten  Poets  o'  her  ain, 

Quels  wha  their  chanters  winna  hain, 

But  tune  their  lays, 
Till  echoes  a'  resound  again 

Her  weel-sung  praise. 

Nae  Poet  thought  her  worth  his  while> 
To  set  her  name  in  measur'd  style ; 
She  lay  like  some  imkend-of  isle, 

Beside  New  Holland, 
Or  whare  wild-meeting  oceans  boil 

Besouth  Magellan. 

Ramsay  an'  famous  Ferguson 
Gied  Forth  an'  Tay  a  lift  aboon  ; 
Yarrow  an'  Tweed,  to  monie  a  tune, 

Owre  Scotland  rings, 
While  Irwin,  Lugar,  Ayr,  an'  Doon, 

Naebody  sings. 

Th'  Ilissus,  Tiber,  Thames,  an'  Seine, 
Glide  sweet  in  monie  a  tunefu'  line  i 
But,  Willie,  set  your  fit  to  mine, 

An'  cock  your  crest, 
We'll  gar  our  streams  an'  burnies  shine 

Up  wi'  the  best. 


We'll  sing  auld  Coila's  plains  an'  fells, 
Her  moors  red -brown  wi'  heather  bells, 
Her  banks  an'  braes,  her  dens  an'  dells, 

Where  glorious  Wallace 
Aft  bure  the  gree,  as  story  tells, 

Frae  Southron  billies. 


At  Wallace'  name,  what  Scottish  blood 
But  boils  up  in  a  spring-tide  flood  ! 
Oft  have  our  fearless  fathers  strode 

By  Wallace'  side, 
Still  pressing  onward,  red-wat-shod, 

Or  glorious  dy'd. 


O,  sweet  are  Coila's  haughs  an*  woods, 
When  lintwhites  chant  amang  the  buds, 
And  jinkin  hares,  in  amorous  whids, 

Their  loves  enjoy, 
While  thro'  the  braes  the  cushat  croods 

Wi'  wailfu'  cry ! 

Ev'n  winter  bleak  has  charm"  to  me 
When  winds  rave  thro'  the  naked  tree ; 
Or  frosts  on  hills  of  Ochiltree 

Are  hoary  gray ; 
Or  blinding  drifts  wild-furious  flee, 

Dark'ning  the  day ! 

O  Nature  !  a'  thy  shews  an'  forms 
To  feeling,  pensive  hearts  hae  charms  ! 
Whether  the  summer  kindly  warms, 

Wi'  life  an'  light, 
Or  winter  howls,  in  gusty  storms, 

The  lang,  dark  night  I 

The  Muse,  na  Poet  ever  fand  her, 
Till  by  himsel  he  learn'd  to  wander, 
Adown  some  trottin  burn's  meander, 

An'  no  think  lang ; 
O  sweet,  to  stray  an'  pensive  ponder 

A  heart-felt  sang  \ 

The  warly  race  may  drudge  an'  drive, 
Hog-shouther,  jundie,  stretch,  an' strive, 
Let  me  fair  Nature's  face  descrive, 

And  I,  wi'  pleasure, 
Shall  let  the  busy,  grumbling  hive 

Bum  owre  their  treasure. 

Fareweel/myrhyme-composingbrither!' 
We've  been  owre  lang  unkenn'd  to  ither: 
Now  let  us  lay  our  heads  thegither, 

In  love  fraternal : 
May  Envy  wallop  in  a  tether, 

Black  fiend,  infernal ! 

While  Highlandmen  hate  tolls  an'  taxes ; 
While    moorlan'   herds  like  'guid,    fat 

braxies  ; 
While  Terra  Firma,  on  her  axis, 

Diurnal  turns, 
Count  on  a  friend,  in  faith  an'  practice, 
In  Robert  Burns. 


8o 


TO  WILLIAM  SIMPSON 


POSTSCRIPT 

My  memory's  no  worth  a  preen; 

I  "had  amaist  forgotten  clean, 

Ye  bade  me  write  you  what  they  mean 

By  this  New-Light, 
'Bout  which  our  herds  sae  aft  have  been 

Maist  like  to  fight 

In  days  when  mankind  were  but  callans 
At  grammar,  logic,  an*  sic  talents, 
They  took  nae  pains  their  speech  to 
balance, 

Or  rules  to  gie, 
But  spak  their  thoughts  in  plain,  braid 
Lallan* 

Like  you  or  me. 

In  thae  auld  times,  they  thought  the 

moon, 
Just  like  a  sark,  or  pair  o'  shoon, 
Wore  by  degrees*  till  her  last  roon, 

Gaed  past  their  viewin, 
An'  shortly  after  she  was  done, 

They  gat  a  new  one. 

This  past  for  certain,  undisputed  ; 
It  ne'er  cam  i'  their  heads  to  doubt  it, 
Till  chiels  gat  up  an'  wad  confute  it, 

An'  ca'd  it  wrang ; 
An'  muckle  din  there  was  about  it, 

Baith  loud  an'  lang. 

Some  herds,  weel  learn'd  upo'  the  beuk, 
Wad  threap  auld  folk  the  thing  misteuk ; 
For  'twas  the  auld  moon  turn'd  a  neuk, 

An'  out  o'  sight, 
An'  backlins-comin,  to  the  leuk, 

She  grew  mair  bright 

This  was  deny'd,  it  was  arhrm'd  ; 
The  herds  an'  hissels  were  alarm'd  : 
The    rev'rend    gray-beards    rav'd    an' 
storm'd, 

That  beardless  laddies 
Should  think  they  better  were  inform'd 

Than  their  auld  daddies. 


Frae  less  to  mair  it  gaed  to  sticks  ; 
Frae  words  an'  aiths  to  clours  an'  nicks  ; 
An'  monie  a  fallow  gat  his  licks, 

\Vi'  hearty  crunt ; 
An'  some,  to  learn  them  for  their  tricks. 

Were  hang'd  an'  brunt 

This  game  was  play'd  in  monie  lands, 
An'  auld-light  caddies  bure  sic  hands, . 
That,  faith,the  youngsters  took  the  sands 

WT  nimble  shanks, 
The  lairds  forbad,  by  strict  commands, 

Sic  bluidy  pranks. 

But  new-light  herds  gat  sic  a  cowe, 
Folk  thought  them  ruin'd  stick-an-stowe, 
Till  now  amaist  on  ev'ry  knowe 

Ye'll  find  ane  plac'd ; 
An'  some,  their  new-light  fair  avow, 

Just  quite  barefae'd, 

Nae  doubt  the  auld-light  flocks    are 

bleatin  ; 
Their  zealous  herds  are  vex'd  an'  sweatin ; 
Mysel,  I've  even  seen  them  greetin 

Wi'  girnin  spite, 
To  hear  the  moon  sae  sadly  he'd  on 

By  word  an'  write. 

But  shortly  they  will  cowe  the  louns  ! 
Some  auld-light  herds  in  neebor  towns 
Are  mind't,  in  things  they  ca'  balloons, 

To  tak  a  flight, 
An'  stay  ae  month  amang  the  moons, 

An'  see  them  right 

Guid  observation  they  will  gie  them ; 
An'  when  the  auld  moon's  gaun  to  lea'e 

them, 
The  hindmost  shaird,  they'll  fetch  it  wi' 
them, 

Just  i'  their  pouch, 
An'  when  the  neW-light  billies  see  them, 
I  think  they'll  crouch  ! 

Sae,  ye  observe  that  a'  this  clatter 

Is  naething  but  a  *  moonshine  matter ;' 

But  tho'  dull-prose  folk  Latin  splatter 

In  logic  tulzie, 
I  hope,  we  Bardies  ken  some  better 

Than  mind  sic  brulzie. 


EPISTLE  TO  JOHN  RANKINE. 


8t 


EPISTLE  TO  JOHN   RANKINE, 

ENCLOSLNG  SOME  POEMS. 


0  ROUGH,  rude,  ready-witted  Rankine, 
The  wale  o'  cocks  for  fun  an*  drinkin  I 
There's  monie  godly  folks  are  thinkin, 

Your  dreams  an'  tricks 
Will  send  you,  Korah-like,  a-sinkin, 
Straught  to  auld  Nick's. 

Ye  hae  sae  monie'  cracks  an'  cants, 
And  in  your  wicked,  druken  rants, 
Ye  mak  a  devil  o'  the  saunts, 

An'  fill  them  fou  ; 
And  then  their  failings,  flaws,  an'  wants, 

Are  a%  seen  thro'. 

Hypocrisy,  in  mercy  spare  it ! 
That  holy  robe^  O  dinna  tear  it ! 
Spare't  for  their  sakes  wha  aften  wear  it, 

The  lads  in  black  ; 
But  your  curst  wit,  when  it  comes  near  it, 

Pvives't  aff  their  back. 

Think, wicked  sinner,  wha  ye' re  skai thing, 
It's  just  theblue-gown  badge  an'  clai thing 
O' saunts;  takthat,ye  lea'e  them  naithing 

To  ken  them  by, 
Frae  ony  4inregenerate  heathen 

Like  you  or  I. 

I've  sent  you  here  some  rhyming  ware, 
A'  that  I  bargain'd  for,  an'  mair  ; 
Sae,  when  ye  hae  an  hour  to  spare, 

I  will  expect, 
Yon  sang,  ye'll  sen't,  wir  cannie  care, 

And  no  neglect 

Tho\  faith,  ;sma'  heart  hae  I  to  sing  ! 
My  Muse  dow  scarcely  spread  her  wing  ! 
I've  play'd  mysel  a  bonie  spring, 

An'  dar.c'd  my  fill ! 
Ird  better  gaen  an'  sair't  the  king 

At  Bunker's  HilL 

'Twas  ae  night  lately,  in  my  fun, 

1  gaed  a  roving  wi'  the  gun, 

An*  brought  a  paitrick  to  the  grun, 


A  bonie  hen,. 
And,  as  the  twilight  was  begun, 

Thought  nane  wad  ken. 

The  poor,  wee  thing  was  little  hurt ; 

1  straikit  it  a  wee  for  sport, 

Ne'er  thinkin  they  wad  fash  me  fort ; 

But  Deil-ma-care ! 
Somebody  tells  the  poacher-court 

The  hale  affair. 

Some  auld,  us'd  hands  had  ta'en  a  note, 
That  sic  a  hen  had  got  a  shot ; 
I  was  suspected  for  the  plot ; 

I  scorn'd  to  lie  ; 
So  gat  the  whissle  o'  my  groat, 

An'  pay't  the  fee. 

But,  by  my  gun,  o'  guns  the  wale, 
An'  by  my  pouther  an'  my  hail, 
An'  by  my  hen,  an'  by  her  tail, 

I  vow  an/  swear  ! 
The  game  shall  pay,  o'er  moor  an'  dale, 

For  this,  niest  year. 

As  soon's  the  clockin-time  is  by, 
An*  the  wee  pouts  begun  to  cry, 
Lord,  I'se  hae  sportin  by  an'  by, 

For  my  gowd  guinea  ; 
Tho'  I  should  herd  the  buckskin  kye 

For't,  in  Virginia. 

Trowth,  they  had  muckle  for  to  blame ! 
'Twas  neither  broken  wing  nor  limb, 
But  twa-three  draps  about  the  wame 

Scarce  thro'  the  feathers ; 
An'  baith  a  yellow  George  to  claim, 

An'  thole  their  blethers  ! 

It  pits  me  aye  as  madJs  a  hare  ; 
So  I  can  rhyme  nor  write  nae  mair ; 
But  pennyworths  again  is  fair, 

When  time's  expedient]: 
Meanwhile  I  am,  respected  Sir, 

Your  most  obedient 


82 


WRITTEN  IN  FRIARS-CARSE  HERMITAGE, 


WRITTEN  IN  FRIARS-CARSE  HERMITAGE, 


ON    NITH-SIDE. 


Thou  whom  chance  may  hither  lead, 
Be  thou  clad  in  russet  weed, 
Be  thou  deckt  in  silken  stole. 
Grave  these  counsels  on  thy  soul. 

Life  is  but  a  day  at  most, 
Sprung  from  night,  in  darkness  lost ; 
Hope  not  sunshine  ev'ry  hour, 
Fear  not  clouds  will  always  lour. 

As  Youth  and  Love,  with  sprightly 
dance, 
Beneath  thy  morning  star  advance, 
Pleasure  with  her  syren  air 
May  delude  the  thoughtless  pair ; 
Let  Prudence  bless  Enjoyment's  cup, 
Then  raptur'd  sip,  and  sip  it  up. 

As  thy  day  grows  warm  and  high, 
Life's  meridian  flaming  nigh, 
Dost  thou  spurn  the  humble  vale  ? 
Life's  proud  summits  wouldst  thou  scale? 
Check  thy  climbing  step,  elate, 
Evils  lurk  in  felon  wait : 
Dangers,  eagle-pinioned,  bold, 
Soar  around  each  cliffy  hold, 
While  cheerful  Peace,  with  linnet  song, 
Chants  the  lowly  dells  among. 

As  the  shades  of  ev'ning  close, 
Beck'ning  tftee  to  long  repose ; 
As  life  itself  becomes  disease, 
Seek  the  chimney -nook  of  ease. 
There  ruminate  with  sober  thought, 
On  all  thou'st  seen,  and  heard,  and 

wrought ; 
And  teach  the  sportive  younkers  round, 
Saws  of  experience,  sage  and  sound. 
Say,  man's  true,  genuine  estimate, 
The  grand  criterion  of  his  fate, 
Is  not — art  thou  high  or  low  ? 
Did  thy  fortune  ebb  or  flow  ? 
Did  many  talents  gild  thy  span  ? 
Or  frugal  Nature  grudge  thee  one  ? 
Tell  them,  and  press  it  on  their  mind, 
As  thou  thyself  must  shortly  find, 
The  smile  or  frown  of  awful  Heav'n 
To  Virtue  or  to  Vice  is  giv'n. 
Say,  to  be  just,  and  kind,  and  wise, 
There  solid  self-enjoyment  lies ; 
That  foolish,  selfish,  faithless  ways, 


Lead  to  be  wretched,  vile,  apd  base. 

Thus  resign'd  and  quiet,  creep 
To  the  bed  of  lasting  sleep  ; 
Sleep,  whence  thou  shalt  ne'er  awake, 
Night,  where  dawn  shall  never  break, 
Till  future  life,  future  no  more, 
To  light  and  joy  the  good  restore, 
To  light  and  joy  unknown  before. 

Stranger,  go  !  Heaven  be-  thy  guide 
Quod  the  Beadsman  of  Nith-side. 


Glenriddel  Hermitage,  June  sStA,  1788. 

FROM   THE  MS. 

Thou  whom  chance  may  hither  lead, 
Be  thou  clad  in  russet  weed, 
Be  thou  deckt  in  silken  stole, 
Grave  these  maxims  on  thy  soul. 

Life  is  but  a  day  at  most, 
Sprung  from  night,  in.  darkness  lost  j 
Hope  not  sunshine  every  hour, 
Fear  not  clouds  will  always  lour, 
Happiness  is  but  a  name, 
Make  content  and  ease  thy  aim. 
Ambition  is  a  meteor  gleam, 
Fame,  an  idle  restless  dream  : 
Peace,  the  tenderest  flower^  of  spring; 
Pleasures,  insects  on  the  wing  ; 
Those  that  sip  the  dew  alone, 
Make  the  butterflies  thy  own  ; 
Those  that  would  the  bloom  devour, 
Crush  the  locusts,  save  the  flower. 
For  the  future  be  prepaid, 
Guard,  wherever  thou  canst  guard  ; 
But  thy  utmost  duly  done, 
Welcome  what  thou  canst  not  shun. 
Follies  past  give  thou  to  air, 
Make  their  consequence  thy  care  : 
Keep  the  name  of  Man  in  mind, 
And  dishonour  not  thy  kind. 
Reverence,  with  lowly  heart, 
Him  whose  wondrous  work  thou  art  : 
Keep  His  goodness  still  in  view, 
Thy  Trust,  and  Thy  Example  too. 
Stranger,  go  !  Heaven  be  thy  guide  ! 
Quod  the  Beadsman  of  Nithe-side. 


ELEGY. 


S3 


0D£,  SACRED  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MRS.  OSWALD. 


Dweller  in  yon  dungeon  dark, 
Hangman  of  creation,  mark  ! 
Who  in  widow-weeds  appears, 
Laden  with  unbonour'd  years, 
Noosing  with  care  a  bursting  purse, 
Baited  with  many  a  deadly  curse! 

STROPHE. 

View  the  wither'd  beldam  s  face — 

Can  thy  keen  inspection  trace 

Aught   of  humanity's  >sweet   melting 

grace? 
Note  that  eye,  'tis  rheum  o'erflows, 
Pity's  floo4  there  never  rose. 
See  those  hands,  ne'er  stretch'd  to  save, 
Hands  that  took — but  never  gave. 
Keeper  of  Mammon's  iron  chest, 
Lo,  there  she  goes,  unpitied  and  unblest 
She  goes,  but  not  to  realms  of  ever- 
lasting rest ! 


ANTISTROPHE. 

Plunderer  of  armies,  lift  thine  eyes, 
(A  while  forbear,  ye  tort'ring  fiends,) 
Seest  thou  whose  step  unwilling  hither 

bends  ? 
No  fallen  angel,  hurl'd  from  upper  skies ; 
'Tis  thy  trusty  quondam  mate, 
Doom'd  to  share  thy  fiery  fate, 
She,  tardy,  hell-ward  plies. 

EPODE. 

And  are  they  of  no  more  avail, 

Ten  thousand  glitt'ring  pounds  a  year? 

In  other  worlds  can  Mammon  fail, 

Omnipotent  as  he  is  here  ? 

O,  bitter  mock'ry  of  the  pompous  bier, 

While  down  the  wretched  vital  part  is 

driven  ! 
The     cave-lodg'd"     beggar,     with 

conscience  clear, 
Expires  in  rags,  unknown,  and  goes  to 

HeaVn. 


ELEGY  ON  CAPT.  MATTHEW  HENDERSON, 

A  GENTLEMAN  WHO  HELD  THE  PATENT  FOR  HIS  HONOURS'  IMMEDIATELY  FROM  ALMIGHTY  GOD. 


But  now  his  radiant  course  is  run, 
For  Matthew's  course  was  bright; 

His  soul  was  like  the  glorious  s?m, 
A  matchless,  Heavenly  Light. 


O  Death  !  thou  tyrant  fell  and  bloody  ! 
The  meikle  devil  wi'.a  woodie 
Haurl  thee  hame  to  his  black  smiddie, 

O'er  hurcheon  hides, 
And  like  stock-fish  come  o'er  his  studdie 

Wi'  thy  auld  sides  ! 

He's  gane,  he's  gane  !  he's  frae  us  torn, 
The  ae  best  fellow  e'er  was  born  ! 
Thee,    Matthew,    Nature's   .sel'    shall 
mourn 

By  wood  and  wild, 
Where,  haply,  Pity  strays  forlorn, 
Frae  man  exil'd. 


Ye  hills,  near  neebors  o'  the  starns, 
That  proudly  cock  your  cresting  cairns  ! 
Ye  cliffs,  the  haunts  of  sailing  jearns, 

Where  echo  slumbers ! 
Come  join,  ye  Nature's  sturdiest  bairns, 

My  wailing  numbers ! 


Mourn,  ilka  grove  the  cushat  kens ! 
Ye  haz'lly  shaws  and  briery  dens  ! 
Ye  burnies,  wimplin  down  your  glens, 

Wi'  toddlin  din, 
Or  foaming  Strang,  wi'  hasty  stens, 

Frae  lin  to  lin-. 


84 


ELEGY. 


Mourn,  little  harebells  o'er  the  lee ; 
Ye  stately  foxgloves  fair  to  see ; 
Ye  woodbines  hanging  bonilie, 

In  scented  bow'rs ; 
Ye  roses  on  your  thorny  tree, 

The  first  o'  flow'rs. 

At  dawn,  when  ev'ry  grassy  blade 
Droops  with  a  diamond  at  his  head, 
At  ev'n,  when  beans  their  fragrance  shed, 

F  th'  rustling  gale, 
Ye  maukins  whiddin  thro'  the  glade, 

Gome  join  my  wail. 

Mourn,  ye  wee  songsters  o'  the  wood  ; 
Ye  grouse  that  Crap  the  heather  bud ; 
Ye  curlews  calling  thro'  a  clud ; 

Ye  whistling  plover ; 
And  mourn,  ye  whirring paitrick  brood; 

He's  gane  for  ever  ! 

Mourn,  sooty  coots,  and  speckled  teals, 
Ye  fisher  herons,  watching  eels  ; 
Ye  duck  and  drake,  wi'  airy  wheels 

Circling  the  lake ; 
Ye  bitterns,  till  the  quagmire  reels, 

Rair  for  his  sake. 

Mourn,  clam'ring  craiks  at  close  o'  day, 
'Mang  fields  o'  flow'ring  clover  gay ; 
And  when  ye  wing  your  annual  way 

Frae  our  cauld  shore, 
Tell  thae  far  warlds,  wha  lies  in  clay, 

Wham  we  deplore. 

Ye  houlets,  frae  your  ivy  bow'r, 
In  some  auld  tree,  or  eldritch  tow'r, 
What  time  the  moon,  wi'  silent  glowr, 

Sets  up  her  horn, 
Wail  thro'  the  dreary  midnight  hour 

Till  waukrife  morn ! 

O  rivers,  forests,  -hills,  and  plains  ! 
Oft  have  ye  heard  my  canty  strains  : 
But  now,  what  else  for  me  remains 

But  tales  of  woe  ; 
And  frae  my  een  the  d  rapping  rains 

Maun  ever  flow. 

Mourn,  spring,  thou  darling  of  the  year ! 
Ilk  cowslip  cup  shall  kep  a  tear  : 
Thou,  simmer,  while  each  corny  spear 


Shoots  up  its  head, 
Thy  gay,  green,  flow'ry  tresses  shear, 
For  him  that's  dead  ! 

Thou,  autumn,  wi'  thy  yellow  hair, 
In  grief  thy  sallow  mantle  tear  ! 
Thou,  winter,  hurling  thro'  the  air 

The  roaring  blast, 
Wide  o'er  the  naked  world  declare 

The  worth  we've  lost ! 

Mourn  him,  thou  sun,  great  source  of 

light ! 
Mourn,  empress  of  the  silent  night ! 
And  you,  ye  twinkling  starnies  bright, 

My  Matthew  mourn ! 
For  through  your  orbs  he's  ta'en  his 
flight, 

Ne'er  to  return. 

O  Henderson  !  the  man !  the  brother  ! 
And  art  thou  gone,  and  gone  for  ever  ? 
And  hast  thou  crost  that  unknown  river,. 

Life's  dreary  bound  ? 
Like  thee,  where  shall  I  find  another, 

The  world  around  ? 

Go  to  your  sculptured  tombs,  ye  Great, 
In  a'  the  tinsel  trash  o'  state  ! 
But  by  thy  honest  turf  I'll  wait, 

Thou  man  of  worth  ! 
And  w£ep  thee  ae  best  fellow's  fate 

E'er  lay  in  earth. 


THE  EPITAPH. 

Stop,  passenger !  my  story's  brief, 
And  truth  I  shall  relate,  man ; 

I  tell  nae  common  tale  o'  grief, 
For  Matthew  was  a  great  man.. 

If  thou  uncommon  merit  hast, 
Yet  spurn'd  at  fortune's  door,  man ; 

A  look  of  pity  hither  cast, 
For  Matthew  was  a  poor  man. 

If  thou  a  noble  sodger  art, 
That  passest  by  this  grave,  man, 

There  moulders  here  a  gallant  heart ; 
For  Matthew  was  a  brave  man. 


LAMENT  OF  MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS. 


8S 


If  thou  on  men,  their  works  and  ways, 
Canst  throw  uncommon  light,  man  ; 

Here  lies  wha  weel  had  won  thy  praise, 
For  Matthew  was  a  bright  man. 

If  thou  at  friendship's  sacred  ca* 
Wad  life  itself  resign,  man  ; 

The  sympathetic  tear  maun  fa', 
For  Matthew  was  a  kind  man. 

If  thou  art  staunch  without  a  stain, 
Like  the  unchanging  blue,  man ; 


This  was  a  kinsman  o'  thy  ain, 
For  Matthew  was  a  true  man. 

If  thou  hast  wit,  and  fun,  and  fire, 
And  ne'er  gude  wine  did  fear,  man  ; 

This  was  thy  billie,  dam,  and  sire, 
For  Matthew  was  a  queer  man. 

If  ony  whiggish  whingin  sot, 

To  blame  poor  Matthew  dare,  man ; 
May  dool  and  sorrow  be  his  lot, 

For  Matthew  was  a  rare  man. 


LAMENT  OF  MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS,  ON  THE 
APPROACH  OF  SPRING. 


Now  Nature  hangs  her  mantle  green 

On  every  blooming  tree, 
And  spreads  her  sheets  o'  daisies  white 

Out-owre  the  grassy  lea  : 
Now  Phcebus  cheers  the  crystal  streams, 

And  glads  the  azure  ckies  ; 
But  nought  can  glad  the  weary  wight 

That  fast  in  durance  lies. 

Now  laverocks  wake  the  merry  morn, 

Aloft  on  dewy  wing ; 
The  merle,  in  his  noontide  bow'r, 

Makes  woodland  echoes  ring ; 
The  mavis  mild  wi'  many  a  note, 

Sings  drowsy  day  to  rest : 
In  love  and  freedom  they  rejoice, 

Wi'  care  nor  thrall  opprest. 

Now  blooms  the  lily  by  the  bank, 

The  primrose  down  the  brae  ; 
The  hawthorn's  budding  in  the  glen, 

And  milk-white  is  the  slae  : 
The  meanest  hind  in  fair  Scotland 

May  rove  their  sweets  amang ; 
But  I,  the  Queen  of  a'  Scotland, 

Maun  lie  in  prison  Strang. 

I  was  the  Queen  o*  bonie  France, 

Where  happy  I  hae  been, 
Fu*  lightly  rase  I  in  the  morn, 

As  blythe  lay  down  at  e'en  : 


And  I'm  the  sov'reign  of  Scotland, 

And  mony  a  traitor  there  5 
Yet  here  I  lie  in  foreign  bands, 

And  never-ending  care. 

But  as  for  thee,  thou  false  woman, 

My  sister  and  my  fae, 
Grim  vengeance,  yet,  shall  whet  a  sword 

That  thro'"  thy  soul  shall  gae  : 
The  weeping  blood  in  woman's  breast 

Was  never  known  to  thee ; 
Nor  th'  balm  that  draps  on  wounds  of  woe 

Frae  woman's  pitying  ee. 

My  son  !  my  son  !  may  kinder  stars 

Upon  thy  fortune  shine ; 
And  may  those  pleasures  gild  thy  reign, 

That  ne'er  wad  blink  on  mine  ! 
God  keep  thee  frae  thy  mother's  faes, 

Or  turn  their  hearts  to  thee  : 
And  where  thou  meet'st  thy  mother's 
friend, 

Remember  him  for  me  ! 

Oh  !  soon,  to  me,  may  summer-suns 

Nae  mair  light  up  the  morn  ! 
Nae  mair,  to  me,  the  autumn  winds 

Wave  o'er  the  yellow  corn  ! 
And  in  the  narrow  house  o'  death 

Let  winter  round  me  rave ; 
And  the  next  How'rs  that  deck  the  spring, 

Bloom  on  my  peaceful  grave ! 


S6  TO  X.  GRAHAM,  ESQ. 


EPISTLE  TO  R.  GRAHAM,  ESQ. 

When  Nature  her  great  master-piece  design'd, 
And  fram'd  her  last,  best  work,  the  human  mind, 
Her  eye  intent  on  all  the  mazy  plan, 
She  form'd  of  various  parts  the  various  man. 
Then  first  she  calls  the  useful,  many  forth  ; 
Plain  plodding  industry,  and  sober  wortH  : 
Thence  peasants,  farmers,  native  sons  of  earth, 
And  merchandise'  whole  genus  take  their  birth  : 
Each  prudent  cit  a  warm  existence  finds, 
And  all  mechanics7  many-apron' d  kinds. 
Some  other  rarer  sorts  are  wanted  yet, 
The  lead  and  buoy  are  needful  to  the  net : 
The  caput  mortuum  of  gross  desires 
Makes  a  material  for  mere  knights  and  squires ; 
The  martial  phosphorus  is  taught  to  flow, 
She  kneads  the  lumpish  philosophic  dough, 
Then  marks  the  unyielding  mass  with  grave  designs, 
Law,  physic,  politics,  and  deep  divines  : 
Last,  she  sublimes  th'  Aurora  of  the  poles, 
The  flashing  elements  of  female  souls. 

The  order' d  system  fair  before  her  stood, 
Nature,  well-pleas'd,  pronounc'd  it  very  good ; 
But  ere  she  gave  creating  labour  o'er, 
Half-jest,  she  try'd  one  curious  labour  more ; 
Some  spumy,  fiery,  ignis  fatuus  matter, 
Such  as  the  slightest  breath  of  air  might  scatter  j 
With  arch  alacrity  and  conscious  glee 
(Nature  may  have  her  whim  as  well  as  we, 
Her  Hogarth-art  perhaps  she  meant  to  show  it) 
She  forms  the  thing,  and  christens  it — a  Poet. 
Creature,  tho'  oft  the  prey  of  care  and  sorrow, 
When  blest  to-day,  unmindful  of  to-morrow. 
A  being  form'd  t'  amuse  his  graver  friends, 
Admir'd  and  prais'd— and  there  the  homage  ends  : 
A  mortal  quite  unfit  for  Fortune's  strife, 
Yet  oft  the  sport  of  all  the  ills  of  life  ; 
Prone  to  enjoy  each  pleasure  riches  give, 
Yet  haply  wanting  wherewithal  to  live  : 
Longing  to  wipe  each  tear,  to  heal  each  groaii, 
Yet  frequent  all  unheeded  in  his  own. 

But  honest  Nature  is  not  quite  a  Turk, 
She  laugh'd  at  first,  then  felt  for  her  poor  work. 
Pitying  the  propless  climber  of  mankind, 
She  cast  about  a  standard  tree  to  find  ; 
And,  to  support  his  helpless  woodbine  state, 
Attach' d  him  to  the  generous  truly  great,. 


TO  R.  GRAHAM,  ESQ.  87 

A  title,  and  the  only  one  I  claim, 

To  lay  strong  hold  for  help  on  bounteous  Graham. 

Pity  the  tuneful  muses'  napless  train, 
Weak,  timid  landsmen  on  life's  stormy  main  ! 
Their  hearts  no  selfish  stern  absorbent  stuff, 
That  never  gives— thov  humbly  takes  enough  ; 
The  little  fate  allows,  they  share  as  soon, 
Unlike  sage,  proverb' d,  wisdom's  hard  wrung  boon. 
The  world  were  blest»did  bliss  on  them  depend', 
Ah,  that  "  the  friendly  e'er  should  want  a  friend  ! " 
Let  prudence  number  o'er  each  sturdy  son, 
Who  life  and  wisdom  at  one  race  begun, 
Who  feel  by  reason,, and  who  give  by  rule, 
(Instinct 's  a  brute,  and  sentiment  a  fool !) 
Who  make  poor"  *  will  do '  wait  upon  *  I  should ' — 
We  pwn  they're  prudent,  but  who  feels  they're  good  ? 
Ye  wise  ones,  hence  !  ye  hurt  the  social  eye ! 
God's  image  rudely  etch'd  on  base  alloy  ! 
But  come  ye,  who  the  godlike  pleasure  know, , 
Heaven's  attribute  distinguish' d — to  bestow  ! 
Whose  arms  of  love  would  grasp  the  human  race  : 
Come  thou  who  giv'st  with  all  a  courtier's  grace  ; 
Friend  of  my  life,  true  .patron  of  my  rhymes  ! 
Prop  of  my  dearest  hopes  for  future  times. 
Why  shrinks  my  soul,  half -blushing,  half-afraid, 
Backward,  abash'd  to  ask  thy  friendly  aid  ? 
I  know  my  need,  I  know  thy  giving  hand, 
I  crave  thy  friendship  at  thy  kind  command  *t 
But  there  are  such  who  court  the  tuneful  nine — 
Heavens  !  should  the  branded  character  be  mine  ! 
Whose  verse  in  manhood's  pride  sublimely  flows, 
Yet  vilest  reptiles  in  their  begging  prose. 
Mark,  how  their  lofty  independent  spirit 
Soars  on  the  spurning  wing  of  injur'd  merit ! 
Seek  not  the  proofs  in  private  life  to  find  ; 
Pity  the  best  of  words  should  be  bujt  wind  ! 
So,  to  heaven's.gates  the  lark's  shrill  song  ascends, 
But  grovelling  on  the-earth  the  carol  ends. 
In  all  the  clam'rous  cry  of  starving  want, 
They  dun  benevolence  with  shameless  front ; 
Oblige  them,  patronize  their  tinsel  lays, 
They  persecute  you  all  your  future  days  ! 
Ere  my  poor  soul  such  deep  damnation  stain, 
My  horny  fist  assume  the  plough  again  ; 
The  piebald  jacket  let  me  patch  once  more  ; 
On  eighteen-pence  a  week  I've  liv'd  before. 
Tho\  thanks  to  Heaven,  I  dare  even  that  last  shift, 
I  trust,  meantime,  my  boon  is  in  thy  gift  : 
That,  plac'd  by  thee  upon  the  wish'd-for  height* 
Where,  man  and  nature  fairer  in  her  sight, 
My  muse  may  imp  her  wing  for  some  sublimer  flight 


.88  TO  ROBERT  GRAHAM,  ESQ. 


TO  ROBERT  GRAHAM,  OF  FINTRA,  ESQ. 

Late  crippl'd  of  an  arm,  and  now  a  leg, 
About  to  beg  a  pass  for  leave  to  beg  ; 
Dull,  listless,  teas' d,  dejected,  anddeprest 
(Nature  is  adverse  to  a  cripple's  rest)  : 
Will  generous  Graham  list  to  his  Poet's  wail  ? 
(It  soothes  poor  Misery,  heark'ning  to  her  tale,) 
And  hear  him  curse  the  light  he  first  survey'd, 
And  doubly  curse  the  luckless  rhyming  trade  ? 

Thou,  Nature,  partial  Nature,  I  arraign ; 
Of  thy  caprice  maternal  I  complain. 
The  lion  and  the  bull  thy  care  have  found, 
One  shakes  the  forests,  and  one  spurns'the  ground  : 
Thou  giv'st  the  ass  his  hide,  the  snail  his  shell, 
Th'  envenom'd  wasp,  victorious,  guards  his  cell. — 
Thy  minions,  kings  defend,  control,  devour, 
In  all  th'  omnipotence  of  rule  and  power. — 
Foxes  and  statesmen,  subtile  wiles  ensure ; 
The  cit-and  polecat  stink,  and  are  secure. 
Toads  with  their  poison,  doctors  with  their  drug, 
The  priest  and  hedgehog  in  their  robes,  are  snug. 
Ev'n  silly  woman  has  her  warlike  arts, 
Her  tongue  and  eyes,  her  dreaded  spear  and  darts. 

But  Oh  !  thou  bitter  step-mother  and  hard, 
To  thy  poor,  fenceless,  naked  child — the  Bard  ! 
A  thing  unteachable  in  world's  skill, 
And  half  an  idiot  too,  more  helpless  still. 
No  heels  to  bear  him  from  the  op'ning  dun  ; 
No  claws,  to  dig,  his  hated  sight  to  shun  ; 
No  horns,  but  those  by  luckless  Hymen  worn, 
And  those,  alas !  not  Amalthea's  horn  : 
No  nerves  olfact'ry,  Mammon's  trusty  cur, 
Clad  in  rich  Dulness'  comfortable  fur, 
In  naked  feeling,  and  in  aching  pride, 
He  bears  th'  unbroken  blast  from  ev'ry  side : 
Vampyre  booksellers  drain  him  to  the  heart, 
And  scorpion  critics  cureless  venom  dart. 

Critics — appall'd  I  venture  on  the  name, 
Those  cut-throat  bandits  in  the  paths  of  fame  : 
Bloody  dissectors,  worse  than  ten  Monroes  ; 
He  hacks  to  teach,  they  mangle  to  expose. 

His  heart  by  causeless,  wanton  malice  wrung, 
By  blockheads'  daring  into  madness  stung  ; 
His  well-won  bays,  than  life  itself  more  dear, 
By  miscreants  torn,  who  ne'er  one  sprig  must  wear : 
Foil'd,  bleeding,  tortur'd  in  th'  unequal  strife, 
The  hapless  Poet  flounders  on  thro'  life. 
Till  fled  each  hope  that  once  his  bosom  fir'd, 
And  fled  each  Muse  that  glorious  once  inspir'd, 


A  LAMENT.  $g 


Low  sunk  in  squalid,  unprotected  age, 

Dead,  even  resentment,  for  his  ihjur'd  page, 

He  heeds  or  feels  no  more  the  ruthless  critic's  rage  ! 

So,  by  some  hedge,  the  generous  steed  deceas'd, 
For  half-starv'd  snarling  curs  a  dainty  feast ; 
By  toil  and  famine  wore  to  skin  and  bone, 
Lies,  senseless  of  each  tugging  bitch's  son. 

O  Dulness  !  portion  of  the  truly  blest  1 
Calm  ^helter'd  haven  of  eternal  rest ! 
Thy  sons  ne'er  madden  in  the  fierce  extremes 
Of  Fortune's  polar  frost,  or  torrid  beams. 
If  mantling  high  she  fills  the  golden  cup, 
With  sober  selfish  ease  they  sip  it  up ; 
Conscious  the  bounteous  meed  they  well  deserve, 
They  only  wonder  "  some  folks  "  do  not  starve. 
The  grave  sage  hern  thus  easy  picks  his  frog, 
And  thinks  the  mallard  a  sad  worthless  dog. 
When  disappointment  snaps  the  clue  of  hope, 
And  thro'  disastrous  night  they  darkling  grope, 
With  deaf  endurance  sluggishly  they  bear, 
And  just  conclude  that  "  fools  are  fortune*s  care." 
So  heavy,  passive  to  the  tempest's  shocks, 
Strong  on  the  sign-post  stands  the  stupid  ox. 

Not  so  the  idle  Muses'  mad- cap  train, 
Not  such  the  workings  of  their  moon-struck  brain ; 
In  equanimity  they  never  dwell, 
By  turns  in  soaring  heav'n,  or  vaulted  hell. 

I- dread  thee,  Fate,  relentless  and  severe, 
With  all  a  poet's,  husband's,  father's  fear ! 
Already  one  strong-hold  of  hope  is  lost, 
Glencairn,  the  truly  noble,  lies  in  dust ; 
(Fled,  like  the  sun  eclips'd  as  noon  appears, 
And  left  us  darkling  in  a  world  of  tears  :) 
Oh  !  hear  my  ardent,  grateful,  selfish  pra/r! 
Fintra,  my  other  stay,  long  bless  and  spare  t 
Thro'  a  long  life  his  hopes  and  wishes  crown, 
And  bright  in  cloudless  skies  his  sun  go  down  ! 
May  bliss  domestic  smooth  his  private  path  ;• 
Give  energy  to  life;  and  soothe  his  latest  breath, 
With  many  a  filial  tear  circling  the  bed  of  death  ! 

LAMENT  FOR  JAMES,  EARL  OF  GLENCAIRN. 


The  wind  blew  hollow  frae  the  hills, 

By  fits  the  sun's  departing  beam 
LookM  on  the  fading  yellow  woods 

That    wav'd    o'er    Lugar's    winding 
.stream : 
Beneath  a  craigy  steep,  a  Bard, 

Laden  with  years  and  meikle  pain, 
[n  loud  lament  bewail'd  his  lord, 

Whom  death  had  all  untimely  taen. 


He  lean'd  him  to  an  ancient  aik, 

Whose  trunk  was  mould'ring  down 
with  years ; 
His  Jocks  were  bleached  white  wi'  time, 

His  hoary  cheek  was  wet  wi'  tears  ; 
And  as  he  touch'd  his  trembling  harp, 

And  as  he  tun'd  his  doleful  sang, 
The  winds,  lamenting  thro'  their  caves, 

To  echo  bore  the  notes  alan£. 


0o 


A  LAMENT. 


"  Ye  scatter'd  birds  that  faintly  sing, 

The  reliques  of  the  vernal  quire  ! 
Ye  woods  that  shed  on  a*  the  winds 

The  honours  of  the  aged  year ! 
A  few  short  months,  and  glad  and  gay, 

Again  ye'll  charm  the  ear  and  e'e ; 
But  nocht  in  all  revolving  time 

Can  gladness  bring  again  to  me. 

"lama  bending  aged  tree, 

That  long  has  stood  the  wind  and  rain; 
But  now  has  come  a  cruel  blast, 

And  my  last  hold  of  earth  is  gane : 
Nae  leaf  o'  mine  shall  greet  the  spring, 

Nae  simmer  sun  exalt  my  bloom ; 
But  I  maun  lie  before  the  storm, 

And  ithers  plant  them  in  my  room. 

"I've  seen  so  many  changefu'  years, 

On  earth  I  am  a  stranger  grown ; 
I  wander  in  the  Ways  of  men, 

Alike  unknowing  and  unknown  : 
Unheard,  unpitied,  unrelievM, 

I  bear  alane  my  lade  o'  care, 
For  silent,  low,  on  beds  of  dust, 

Lie  a*  that  would  rrjy  sorrows  share. 

"And  last  (the  sum  of  a*  my  griefs  !) 

My  noble  master  lies  in  clay ; 
The  flow'r  amang  our  barons  bold, 

His  country's  pride,  his  country's  stay : 
In  weary  being  now  I  pine, 

For  a'  the  life  of  life  is  dead, 
And  hope  has  left  my  aged  ken, 

On  forward  wing  for  ever  fled. 


"  Awake  thy  last  sad  voice,  my  harp  ! 

The  voice  of  woe  and  wild  despair ! 
AwTake,  resound  thy  latest  lay, 

Then  sleep  in  silence  evermair ! 
And  thou,  my  last,  best,  only  friend, 

That  fillest  an  untimely  tomb, 
Accept  this  tribute  from  the  Bard 

Thou  brought  from  fortune's  mirkest 
gloom. 

"  In  Poverty's  low  barren  vale,   [round ; 

Thick  mists,    obscure,   involv'd    me 
Though  oft  I  turn'd  the  wistful  eye, 

No  ray  of  fame  was  to  be  found  : 
Thou  found'st  me,  like  the  morning  sun 

That  melts  the  fogs  in  limpid  air, 
The  friendless  Bard,  and  rustic  song, 

Became  alike  thy  fostering  care. 

"  O  !  why  has  worth  so  short  a  date  ? 

While  villains  ripen  grey  with/  time  ! 
Must  thou,  the  noble,  gen'rous,  great, 

Fall  in  .bold  manhood's  hardy  prime? 
Why  did  I  live  to  see  that  day  ? 

A  day  to  me  so  full  of  woe  ? 
O  !  had  I  met  the  mortal  shaft 

Which  laid  my  benefactor  low ! 

"  The  bridegroom  may  forget  the  bride 

Was  made  his  wedded  wife  yestreen  j 
The  monarch  may  forget  the  crown 

That  on  his  head  an  hour  has  been  ; 
The  mother  may  forget  the  child 

That  smiles  sae  sweetly  on  her  knee ; 
But  I'll  remember  thee,  Glencairn, 

And  a'  that  thou  hast  done  for  me  1 " 


LINES  SENT  TO  SIR  JOHN  WHITEFORD, 
OF  WHITEFORD,  BART.   WITH  THE  FOREGOING  POEM. 


Thou,  who  thy  honour  as  thy  God  rever'st, 

Who,  save  thy  mind's  reproach,  nought  earthly  fear'st, 

To  thee  this  votive  offering  I  impart, 

The  tearful  tribute  of  a  broken  heart 

The  friend  thou  valued'st,  I,  the  Patron,  lov'd ; 

His  worth,  his  honour,  all  the  world  approv'd. 

We'll  mourn  till  we  too  go  as  he  has  gone, 

And  tread  the  dreary  path  to  that  dark  world  unknown. 


TAM  0*  SHANTER.  gt 


TAM  O'  SHANTER. 

A   TALE. 

O/Brownyis  and  of  Bogilisfull  in  this  Buke. 

Gawin  Douglas. 

When  chapman  billies  leave  the  street, 
And  drouthy  neebors,  neebors  meet, 
As  market-days  are  wearing  late, 
An'  folk  begin  to  tak  the  gate ; 
While  we  sit  bousing  at  the  nappy, 
An'  getting  fou  and  unco  happy, 
We  think  na  on  the  lang  Scots  miles, 
The  mosses,  waters,  slaps,  and  styles, 
That  lie  between  usjmd  our  hame, 
Whare  sits  our  sulky  sullen  dame, 
Gathering  her  brows  like  gathering  storm, 
Nursing  her  wrath  to  keep  it  warm. 

This  truth  fand  honest  Tarn  a'  Shanter, 
As  he  frae  Ayr  ae  night  did  canter, 
(Auld  Ayr,  wham  ne'er  a  town  surpasses, 
For  honest  men  and  bonie  lasses.) 

O  Tam  !  hadst  thou  but  been  sae  wise, 
As  ta'en  thy  ain  wife  Kate's  advice  ! 
-She  tauld  thee  weel  thou  wast  a  skellum, 
A  blethering,  blustering,  drunken  blellum ; 
That  frae  November  till  October, 
Ae  market-day  thou  was  na  sober ; 
That  ilka  melder,  wi*  the  miller, 
Thou  sat  as  lang  as  thou  had  siller ; 
That  ev'ry  naig  was  ca'd  a  shoe  on, 
The  smith  and  thee  gat  roaring  fou  on ; 
That  at  the  Lord's  house,  ev'n  on  Sunday, 
Thou  drank  wi'  Kirton  Jean  till  Monday. 
She  prophesyM  that,  late  or  soon, 
Thou  would  be  found  deep  drown'd  in  Doon  5 
Or  catch'd  wi'  warlocks  in  the  mirk, 
By  Alloway's  auld  haunted  kirk. 

Ah,  gentle  dames  !  it  gars  me  greet, 
To  think  how  monie  counsels  sweet, 
How  mony  lengthen' d,  sage  acl  vices, 
The  husband  frae  the  wife  despises  ! 

But  to  our  tale  :     Ae  market  night, 
Tarn  had  got  planted  unco  right ; 
Fast  by  an  ingle,  bleezing  finely, 
Wi'  reaming  swats,  that  drank  divinely  ;• 
And  at  his  elbow,  Souter  Johnny, 
His  ancient>  trusty,  drouthy  crony ; 


92  TAM  0'  SHANTER. 


Tam  lo'ed  him  like  a  vera  brither ; 
They  had  been  fou  for  weeks  thegither. 
The  night  drave  on  vvi'  sangs  and  clatter 
And  ay  the  ale  was  growing  better  : 
The  landlady  and  Tarn  grew  gracious, 
Wi'  favours,  secret,  sweet,  and  precious  : 
The  souter  tauld  his  queerest  stories  'r 
The  landlord's  laugh  was  ready  chorus  : 
The  storm  without  might  rair  and  rustle, 
Tam  did  na  mind  the  storm  a  whistle, 

Care,  mad-to  see  a  man  sae  happy, 
E'en  drown'd  himsel  amang  the  nappy  : 
As  bees  flee  hame  wi'  lades  o'  treasure, 
The  minutes  wing'd  their  way  wi'  pleasure ; 
Kings  may  be  blest,  but  Tam  was  glorious, 
O^er  a1  the  ills  o'  life  victorious  !  ^ 

(/But  pleasures  are  like  poppies  spread,  | 
You  seize  the  ftow'r,  its  bloom  is  shed 
Or  like  the  snow-falls  in  the  river, 
A  moment  white — then  melts  for  ever ; 
Or  like  the  borealis  race, 
That  flit  ere  you  can  point  their  place ; 
Or  like  the  rainbow's  lovely  form 
Evanishing  amid  the  storm. —    r_^^ 
NN^e  man  can  tether  time  or  tide^^ 
Tne  hour  approaches  Tam  maun  ride  ; 
That  hour,  o'  night's  black  arch  the  key-stane, 
That  dreary  hour  he  mounts  his  beast  in ; 
And  sic  a  night  he  taks  the  road  in, 
As  ne'er  poor  sinner  was  abroad  in. 

The  wind  blew  as  'twad  blawn  its  last ; 
The  rattling  show'rs  rose  oh  the  blast ; 
The  speedy  gleams  the  darkness  swallow'd  j 
Loud,  deep,  and  lang,  the  thunder  bellow'd » 
That  night,  a  child  might  understand. 
The  Deil  had  business  on  his  hand. 

Weel  mounted  on  his  grey  mare,  Meg, 
A  better  never  lifted  leg, 
Tam  skelpit  on  thro'  dub  and  mire, 
Despising  wind,  and  rain,  and  fire ; 
Whiles  holding  fast  his  gude  blue  bonnet ; 
Whiles  crooning  o'er  sortie  auld  Scots  sonnet ; 
Whiles  glow'ring  round  wi'  prudent  cares, 
Lest  bogles  catch  him  unawares  ; 
Kirk-Alloway  was  drawing  nigh, 
Whare  ghaists  and  houlets  nightly  cry. — 

By  this  time  he  was  cross  the  ford, 
Whare  in  the  snaw,  the  chapman  smoor'd  ; 
And  past  the  birks  and  meikle  stane, 
Whare  drunken  Charlie  brak's  neck -bane  ; 
And  thro'  the  whins,  and  by  the  cairn, 
Whare  hunters  fand  the  murder'd  bairn  ; 


TAM  0'  SHANTER.  93 


And  near  the  thorn,  aboon  the  well, 
Whare  Mungo's  mither  hang'd  hersel. — 
Before  him  Doon  pours  all  his  floods ; 
The  doubling  storm  roars  thro'  the  woods  ; 
The  lightnings  flash  from  pole  to  pole  ; 
Near  and  more  near  the  thunders  roll : 
When,  glimmering  thro?  the  groaning  trees, 
Kirk-Alloway  seem'd  in  a  bleeze  ; 
Thro'  ilka  bore  the  beams  were  glancing ; 
And  loud  resounded  mirth  and  dancing. — 

Inspiring  bold  John  Barleycorn  ! 
What  dangers  thou  canst  make  us  scorn  ! 
Wi'  tippenny,  we  fear  nae  evil ; 
Wi'  usquebae,  we'll  face  the  devil ! — 
The  swats  sae  ream'd  in  Tammie's  noddle, 
Fair  play,  he  car'd  na  deils  a  boddle. 
But  Maggie  stood  right  sair  astonish'd, 
Till,  by  the  heel  and  hand  admonish' d, 
She  ventur'd  forward  on  the  light ; 
And,  vow !  Tarn  saw  an  unco  sight ! 
Warlocks  and  witches  in  a  dance ; 
Nae  cotillion  brent  new  frae  France, 
But  hornpipes,  jigs,  strathspeys,  and  reels, 
Put  life  and  mettle  in  their  heels. 
A  winnock -bunker  in  the  east, 
There  sat  auld  Nick,  in  shape  o'  beast ; 
A  towzie  tyke,  black,  grim,  and  large, 
To  gie  them  music  was  his  charge  : 
He  screw'd  the  pipes  and  gart  them  skirl, 
Till  roof  and  rafters  a'  did  dirl. — 
Coffins  stood  round  like  open  presses, 
That  shaw'd  the  dead  in  their  last  dresses  ; 
And  by  some  devilish  cantraip  slight 
Each  in  its  cauld  hand  held  a  light, — 
By  which  heroic  Tarn  was  able 
To  note  upon  the  haly  table, 
A  murderer's  banes  in  gibbet  aims  ; 
Twa  span-lang,  wee,  unchristen'd  bairns ; 
A  thief,  new-cutted  frae  the  rape, 
Wi'  his  last  gasp  his  gab  did  gape; 
Five  tomahawks,  wi'  blude  red  rusted ; 
Five  scymitars,  wi'  murder  crusted  ; 
A  garter,  which  a  babe  had  strangled  ; 
A  knife,  a  father's  throat  had  mangled, 
Whom  his  ain  son  o'  life  bereft, 
The  grey  hairs  yet  stack  to  the  heft ; 
Wi'  mair  o'  horrible  and  awfu', 
Which  ev'n  to  name  wad  be  unlawfu*. 

As  Tammie  glowr'd,  amaz'd,  and  curious, 
The  mirth  and  fun  grew  fast  and  furious : 
The  piper  loud  and  louder  blew  ; 
The  dancers  quick  and  quicker  flew  ; 


94  TAM  0"  SHANTER. 


They  reel'd,  they  set,  they  cross'd,  they  cleekit, 
Till  ilka  carlin  swat  and  reekit, 
And  coost  her  duddies  to  the  wark, 
And  linket  at  it  in  her  sark  ! 

Now  Tarn,  O  Tarn  !  had  thae  been  queans, 
A*  plump  and  strapping  in  their  teens ; 
Their  sarKS,  instead  o'  creeshie  flannen, 
Been  snaw- white  seventeen  hunder  linnen  ! 
Thir  breeks  o'  mine,  my  only  pair, 
That  ance  were  plush,  o*  gude  blue  hair, 
I  wad  hae  gi'en  them  off  my  hurdies. 
For  ae  blink  o'  the  bonie  burdies  ! 

But  wither'd  beldams,  auld  and  droll, 
Rigwooddie  hags  wad  spean  a  foal, 
Lowping  and  flinging  on  a  crummock, 
I  wonder  didna  turn  thy  stomach. 

But  Tam  kend  what  was  what  fu'  brawlie, 
There  was  ae  winsome  wench  and  walie, 
That  night  enlisted  in  the  core, 
(Lang  after  kend  on  Carrick  shore  ; 
For  mony  a  beast  to  dead  she  shot, 
And  perish'd  mony  a  bonie  boat, 
And  shook  baith  meikle  corn  and  bear 
And  kept  the  country-side  in  fearj 
Her  cutty  sark,  o'  Paisley  harn, 
That  while  a  lassie  she  had  worn, 
In  longitude  tho'  sorely  scanty, 
It  was  her  best,  and  she  was  vauntie.  — 
Ah  !  little  kend  thy  reverend  grannie, 
That  sark  she  coft  for  her  wee  Nannie, 
Wi'  twa  pund  Scots  ('twas  a'  her  riches), 
Wad  ever  grac'd  a  dance  of  witches  ! 

But  here  my  mUse  her  wing  maun  cour ; 
Sic  flights  are  far  beyond  her  pow'r ; 
To  sing  how  Nannie  lap  and  flang, 
(A  souple  jade  she  was,  and  Strang,) 
And  how  Tam  stood,  like  ane  bewitch'd, 
And  thought  his  very  een  enrich'd  ', 
Even  Satan  glowr'd,  and  fidg'd  fu'  fain, 
And  hotch'd  and  blew  wi*  might  and  main  : 
Till  first  ae  caper,  syne  anither, 
Tam  tint  his  reason  a'  thegither, 
And  roars  out,  "  Weel  done,  Cutty-sark  ! " 
And  in  an  instant  all  was  dark  : 
And  scarcely  had  he  Maggie  rallied, 
When  out  the  hellish  legion  sallied. 

As  bees  bizz  out  wi'  angry  fyke> 
When  plundering  herds  assail  their  byke  ; 
As  open,  pussie's  mortal  foes, 
When,  pop  !  she  starts  before  their  nose ; 
As  eager  runs  the  market-crowd, 
When,  "  Catch  the  thief !  "  resounds  aloud  ; 


ON  CAPTAIN  GROSE'S  PEREGRINATIONS 


95 


So  Maggie  runs,  the  witches  follow, 

Wi'  monie  an  eldritch  skreech  and  hollow. 

Ah,  Tam  !  ah,  Tarn  !  thou'll  get  thy  fairin  ! 
In  hell  they'll  roast  thee  like  a  herrin  ! 
In  vain  thy  Kate  awaits  thy  comin  ! 
Kate  soon  will  be  a  woefu'  woman  ! 
Now,  do  thy  speedy  utmost,  Meg, 
And  win  the  key-stane  of  the  brig  : 
There  at  them  thou  thy  tail  may  toss, 
A  running  stream  they  darena  cross. 
But  ere  the  key-stane  she  could  make, 
The  fient  a  tail  she  had  to  shake ! 
For  Nannie,  far  before  the  rest, 
Hard  upon  noble  Maggie  prest, 
And  flew  at  Tam  wi'  furious  ettle ; 
But  little  wist  she  Maggie's  mettle — 
Ae  spring  brought  off  her  master  hale, 
But  left  behind  her  ain  gray  tail : 
The  carlin  claught  her  by  the  rump, 
And  left  poor  Maggie  scarce  a  stump. 

Now,  wha  this  tale  o'  truth  shall  read, 
Ilk  man  and  mother's  son,  take  heed  ; 
Whene'er  to  drink  you  are  inclin'd, 
Or  cutty-sarks  run  in  your  mind, 
Think,  ye  may  buy  the  joys  o'er  dear, 
Remember  Tam  o'  Shanter's  mare. 


ON  THE   LATE   CAPTAIN  GROSE'S  PEREGRINATIONS 
THRO'  SCOTLAND, 

COLLECTING  THE   ANTIQUITIES  OF  THAT  KINGDOM. 


Hear,    Land   o     Cakes,  and  brither 

Scots, 
Frae  Maidenkirk  to  Johnny  Groats; — 
If  there's  a  hole  m  a'  your  coats, 
I  rede  you  tent  it  : 
A  chield's  amang  you  taking  notes, 

And,  faith,  he'll  prent  it. 


If  in  your  bounds  ye  chance  to  light 
Upon  a  fine,  fat,  fodgel  wight, 
O'  stature  short,  but  genius  bright, 

That's  he,  mark  weel— 
And  wow  »  he  has  an  unco  slight 

O'  cauk  and  keel. 


By  some  auld,  houlet-haunted  biggin, 

Or  kirk  deserted  by  its  riggin, 

It's  ten-to  ane  ye'll  find  him  snug  in 

Some  eldritch  part, 
Wi*    deils,    they    say,    Lord    save's! 
colleaguin 

At  some  black  art, — 

Ilk  ghaist  that  haunts  auld  ha'  or  chamer, 
Ye  gipsy-gang  that  deal  in  glamor, 
And!  you  deep    read    in  hell's   black 
grammar, 

Warlocks  and  witches, 
Ye'll  quake  at  his  conjuring  hammer, 
Ye  midnight  bitches. 


96 


ON  SEEING  A  WOUNDED  HARE. 


It's  tauld  he  was  a  sodger  bred, 
And  ane  wad  rather  fa'n  than  fled ; 
But  now  he's  quat  the  spurtle-blade, 

And  dog-skin  wallet, 
And  taen  the— Antiquarian  trade, 

I  think  they  call  it. 

lie  has  a  fouth  o'  auld  nick-nackets : 
Rusty  aim  caps  and  jimglin  jackets, 
Wad  haud  the  Lothians  three  in  tackets, 

A  towmont  gude  ; 
And  parritch-pats,  and  auld  saut- backets, 

Before  the  Flood. 

Of  Eve's  first  fire  he  has  a  cinder ; 
Auld  Tubalcain's  fire-shool  and  fender ; 
That  which  distinguished  the  gender 

O'  Balaam's  ass ; 
A  broom-stick  o'  the  witch  of  Endor, 

Weel  shod  wi'  brass. 


Forbye,  he'll  shape  you  afF,  fu'  gleg 
The  cut  of  Adam's  philibeg  ; 
The  knife  that  nicket  Abel's  craig 

He'll  prove  you  fully, 
It  was  a  faulding  jocteleg, 

Or  lang-kail  gullie. — 

But  wad  ye  see  him  in  his  glee, 
For  meikle  glee  and  fun  has  he, 
Then  set  him  down,  and  twa  or  three 

Gude  fellows  wi'  him  ; 
And  port,  O  port !  shine  thou  a  wee, 

And  then  ye'll  see  him  f 

Now,  by  the  Pow'rs  o*  verse  and  prose ! 
Thou  art  a  dainty  chield,  O  Grose  1— 
Whae'er  o'  thee  shall  ill  suppose, 

They  sair  misca'  thee ; 
I'd  take  the  rascal  by  the  nose, 

Wad  say,  Shame  fa'  thee ! 


ON  SEEING  A  WOUNDED  HARE  LIMP  BY  ME, 


WHICH   A  FELLOW   HAD  JUST  SHOT  AT. 


[April,  1789.] 


Inhuman  man  !  curse  on  thy  barb'rous  art, 
And  blasted  be  thy  murder-aiming  eye ; 
May  never  pity  soothe  thee  with  a  sigh, 

Nor  ever  pleasure  glad  thy  cruel  heart  F 

Go,  live,  poor  wanderer  of  the  wood  and  field, 

The  bitter  little  that  of  life  remains  ; 

No  more  the  thickening  brakes  and  verdant  plains 
To  thee  shall  home,  or  food,  or  pastime  yield. 

Seek,  mangled  wretch,  some  place  of  wonted  rest, 
No  more  of  rest,  but  now  thy  dying  bed  ! 
The  sheltering  rushes  whistling  o'er  thy  head, 

The  cold  earth  with  thy  bloody  bosom  prest. 

Oft  as  by  winding  Nith,  I,  musing,  wait 
The  sober  eve,  or  hail  the  cheerful  dawn, 
I'll  miss  thee  sporting  o'er  the  dewy  lawn, 

And  curse  the  ruffian's  aim,  and  mourn  thy  hapless  fate. 


TO  Af/SS  CRUTKSHANK. 


97 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  SHADE  OF  THOMSON, 

ON  CROWNING  HIS  BUST  AT  EDNAM,  ROXBURGH-SHIRE,  WITH  BAYS. 


While  virgin  Spring,  by  Eden's  flood, 
Unfolds  her  tender  mantle  green, 

Or  pranks  the  sod  in  frolic  mood, 
Or  tunes  Ealian  strains  between ; 

While  Summer  with  a  matron  grace 
Retreats  to  Dryburgh's  cooling  shade, 

Yet  oft,  delighted,  stops  to  trace 
The  progress  of  the  spiky  blade ; 

While  Autumn,  bene  actor  kind, 
By  Tweed  erects  his  aged  head, 


And  sees,  with  self-approving  mind, 
Each  creature  on  his  bounty  fed ; 

While  maniac  Winter  rages  o'er 
The  hills  whence  classic  Yarrow  flows, 

Rousing  the  turbid  torrent's  roar, 
Or  sweeping,  wild,  a  waste  of  snows  ; 

So  long,  sweet  Poet  of  the  year, 
Shall  bloom  that  wreath  thou  well 
hast  won ; 

While  Scotia,  with  exulting  tear, 
Proclaims  that  Thomson  was  her  son. 


TO  MISS  CRUIKSHANK. 

A  VERY  YOUNG  LADY, 
WRITTEN  ON  THE  BLANK  LEAF  OP  A  BOOK,   PRESENTED  TO  HER  BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


Beauteous  rose-bud,  young  and  gay, 
Blooming  in  thy  early  May, 
Never  may'st  thou,  lovely  Flow'r, 
Chilly  shrink  in  sleety  show'r ! 
Never  Boreas'  hoary  "path, 
Never  Eurus*  pois'nous  breath, 
Never  baleful  stellar  lights, 
Taint  thee  with  untimely  blights ! 
Never,  never  reptile  thief 
Riot  on  thy  virgin  leaf ! 
Nor  even  Sol  too  fiercely  view 
Thy  bosom  blushing  still  with  dew  ! 


May'st    thou   long,    sweet   crimson 
gem, 
Richly  deck  thy  native  stem  ; 
Till  some  evening,  sober,  calm, 
Dropping  dews,  and  breathing  balm, 
While  all  around  the  woodland  rings, 
And  every  bird  thy  requiem  sings; 
Thou,  amid  the  dirgeful  sound, 
Shed  thy  dying  honours  round, 
And  resign  to  parent  earth 
The  loveliest  form  she  e'er  gave  birth. 


ON   READINC,  IN   A   NEWSPAPER, 

THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN   M'LEOD,  ESQ 

BROTHER  TO   A  YOUNG  LADY,    A    PARTICULAR   FRIEND  OP   THE  AUTHOR'S. 


Sad  thy  tale,  thou  idle  page, 

And  rueful  thy  alarms  : 
Death  tears  the  brother  of  her  love 

From  Isabella's  arms, 

d 


Sweetly  deckt  with  pearly  clew 
The  morning  rose  may  blow  ; 

But  cold  successive  noontide  blasts 
May  lay  its  beauties  low. 


98 


PETITION  OF  BRUAR  WATER. 


Fair  on  Isabella's  morn 
The  sun  propitious  smil'd  ; 

But,  long  ere  noon,  succeeding  clouds 
Succeeding  hopes  beguil'd. 

Fate  oft  tears  the  bosom  chords 
That  Nature  finest  strung  : 

So  Isabella's  heart  was  form'd, 
And  so  that  heart  was  wrung. 


Dread  Omnipotence,  alone, 
Can  heal  the  wound  He  gave  ; 

Can  point  the  brimful  grief-worn  eyes 
To  scenes  beyond  the  grave. 

Virtue's  blossoms  there  shall  blow, 
And  fear  no  withering  blast ; 

There  Isabella's  spotless  worth 
Shall  happy  be  at  last. 


THE    HUMBLE    PETITION    OF    BRUAR   WATER 
TO  THE  NOBLE  DUKE  OF  ATHOLE. 


My  Lord,  I  know  your  noble  ear 

Woe  ne'er  assails  in  vain  ; 
Embolden'd  thus,  I  beg  you'll  hear 

Your  humble  Slave  complain, 
How  saucy  Phoebus'  scorching  beams, 

In  flaming  summer-pride, 
Dry- withering,  waste  my  foamy  streams, 

And  drink  my  crystal  tide. 

The  lightly-jumping  glowrin  trouts, 

That  thro'  my  waters  play, 
If,  in  their  random,  wanton  spouts, 

They  near  the  margin  stray ; 
If,  hapless  chance  !  they  linger  lang, 

I'm  scorching  up  so  shallow, 
They're  left  the  whitening  stanes  amang, 

In  gasping  death  to  wallow. 

Last  day  I  grat  wi'  spite  and  teen, 

As  Poet  Burns  came  by, 
That  to  a  Bard  I  should  be  seen 

Wi'  half  my  channel  dry  : 
A  panegyric  rhyme,  I  ween, 

Even  as  I  was  he  shor'd  me  ; 
But  had  I  in  my  glory  been, 

He,  kneeling,  wad  ador'd  me. 

Here,  foaming  down  the  shelvy  rocks, 

In  twisting  strength  I  rin  ; 
There,  high  my  boiling  torrent  smokes. 

Wild-roaring  o'er  a  linn  : 
Enjoying  large  each  spring  and  well 

As  Nature  gave  them  me, 
I  am,  altho'  I  say't  mysel, 

Worth  gaun  a  mile  to  see. 


Would  then  my  noble  master  please 

To  grant  my  highest  wishes, 
He'll  shade  my  banks  wi'  tow'ring  trees, 

And  bonie  spreading  bushes. 
Delighted  doubly  then,  my  Lord, 

You'll  wander  on  my  banks, 
And  listen  monie  a  grateful  bird 

Return  you  tuneful  thanks. 

The  sober  laverock,  warbling  wild, 

Shall  to  the  skies  aspire  ; 
The  gowdspink,  Music's  gayest  child, 

Shall  sweetly  join  the  choir  : 
The  blackbird  strong,  the  lintwhite  clear, 

The  mavis  mild  and  mellow  ; 
The  robin  pensive  Autumn  cheer, 

In  all  her  locks  of  yellow  : 

This,  too,  a  covert  shall  ensure, 

To  shield  them  from  the  storm ; 
And  coward  maukin  sleep  secure, 

Low  in  her  grassy  form : 
Here  shall  the  shepherd  make  his  seat, 

To  weave  his  crown  of  flow'rs ; 
Or  find  a  sheltering  safe  retreat, 

From .  prone-descending  show'rs. 

And  here,  by  sweet  endearing  stealth, 

Shall  meet  the  loving  pair, 
Despising  worlds  with  all  their  wealth 

As  empty,-  idle  care  : 
The  flow  rs  shall  vie  in  all  their  charm? 

The  hour  of  heav'n  to  grace, 
And  birks  extend  their  fragrant  arms, 

To  screen  the  dear  embrace. 


THE  KIJRK  OF  SCOTLAND'S  ALARM. 


99 


Here  haply  too,  at  vernal  dawn, 

Some  musing  bard  may  stray, 
And  eye  the  smoking,  dewy  lawn, 

And  misty  mountain,  grey  ; 
Or,  by  the  reaper's  nightly  beam, 

Mild-chequering  thro'  the  trees, 
Rave  to  my  darkly  dashing  stream, 

Hoarse-swelling  on  the  breeze. 

Let  lofty  firs,  and  ashes  cool, 
My  lowly  banks  o'erspread, 

And  view,  deep-bending  in  the  pool, 
Their  shadows'  wat'ry  bed  ! 


Let  fragrant  birks  in  woodbines  drest 

My  craggy  cliffs  adorn  ; 
And,  for  the  little  songster's  nest, 

The  close  embovv'ring  thorn. 

So  may  Old  Scotia's  darling  hope, 

Your  little  angel  band, 
Spring,  like  their  fathers,  up  to  prop 

Their  honour' d  native  land  ! 
So  may  thro'  Albion's  farthest  ken, 

To  social-flowing  glasses 
The  grace  be — "  Athole's  honest  men, 

And  Athole's  bonie  lasses ! " 


THE   KIRK'S  ALARM. 

A  SA  TIRE. 
A  Ballad  Tune—" Push,  about  the  Brisk  Bawl." 

Orthodox,  Orthodox,  wha  believe  in  John  Knox, 
Let  me  sound  an  alarm  to  your  conscience : 

There's  a  heretic  blast  has  been  blawn  i'  the  wast, 
"That  what  is  not  sense  must  be  nonsense." 

Dr.  Mac,  Dr.  Mac,  you  should  stretch  on  a '.rack, 

To  strike  evil-doers  wi1  terror ; 
To  join  faith-and  sense  upon  onie  pretence, 

Is  heretic,  damnable  error} 

Town  of  Ayr,  town  of  Ayr,  it  was  mad,  I  declare, 

To  meddle  wi'  mischief  a-brewing  ; 
Provost  John  is  still  deaf  to  the  church's  relief 

And  orator  Bob  is  its  ruin. 

D'rymple  mild,  D'rymple  mild,  tho'  your  heart's  like 
And  your  life  like  the  new  driven  snaw, 

Yet  that  winna  save  ye,  auld  Satan  must  have  ye, 
For  preaching  that  three's  ane  and  twa. 


child, 


Rumble  John,  Rumble  John,  mount  the  steps  wi'  a  groan, 

Cry  the  book  is  wi'  heresy  cramm'd  ; 
Then  lug  out  your  ladle,  deal  brimstane  like  adle, 

And  roar  ev'ry  note  of  the  damn'd. 

Simper  James,  Simper  James,  leave  the  fair  Killie  dames, 

There's  a  holier  chase  in  your  view ; 
I'll  lay  on  your  head,  that  the  pack  ye'll  soon  lead, 

For  puppies  lteyou  there's  but  few. 


too  THE  KIRK  OF  SCOTLAND'S  ALARM, 


Singet  Sawney,  Singet  Sawney,  are  ye  herding  the  penny, 

Unconscious  what  evils  await  ? 
Wi'  a  jump,  yell,  and  howl,  alarm  every  soul, 

For  the  foul  thief  is  just  at  your  gate. 

Daddy  Auld,  Daddy  Auld,  there's  a  tod  in  the  fauld, 

A  tod  meikle  waur  than  the  Clerk ; 
Tho'  ye  can  do  little  skaith,  ye'll  be  in  at  the  death, 

And  gif  ye  canna  bite,  ye  may  bark. 

Davie  Bluster,  Davie  Bluster,  if  for  a  saint  yc  do  muster, 

The  corps  is  no  nice  of  recruits  : 
Yet  to  worth  let's  be  just,  royal  blood,  ye  might  boast, 

If  the  ass  was  the  king  of  the  brutes. 

Jamy  Goose,  Jamy  Goose,  ye  hae  made  but  toom  roose, 

In  hunting  the  wicked  Lieutenant ; 
But  the  Doctor's  your  mark,  for  the  L — d's  haly  ark, 

He  has  cooper' d  and  caw'd  a  wrang  pin  in't. 

Poet  Willie,  Poet  Willie,  gie  the  Doctor  a  volley, 

Wi'  your  "liberty's  chain  "  and  your  wit ; 
O'er  Pegasus'  side  ye  ne'er  laid  a  stride, 

Ye  but  smelt,  man,  the  place  where  he  sh-t. 

Andro  Gouk,  Andro  Gouk,  ye  may  slander  the  book, 

And  the  book  no  the  waur,  let  me  tell  ye  ! 
Ye  are  rich,  and  look  big,  but  lay  by  hat  .and  wig, 

And  ye'll  hae  a  calf's  head  o'  sma'  value. 

Barr  Steenie,  Barr  Steenie,  what  mean  ye  ?  what  mean  ye  ? 

If  ye'll  meddle  nae  mair  wi'  the  matter, 
Ye  may  hae  some  pretence  to  havins  and  sense, 

Wi'  people  wha  ken  ye  nae  better. 

Irvine  Side,  Irvine  Side,  wi'  your  turkeycock  pride, 

Of  manhood  but  sma'  is  your  share  ; 
Ye've  the  figure,  'tis  true,  even  your  faes  will  allow, 

And  your  friends  they  dare  grant  you  nae  mair. 

Muirland  Jock,  Muirland  Jock,  when  the  Lord  makes  a  rock 

To  crush  common  sense  for  her  sins, 
If  ill  manners  were  wit,  there's  no  mortal  so  fit 

To  confound  the  poor  Doctor  at  ance. 

Holy  Will,  Holy  Will,  there  was  wit  i'  your  skull, 

When  ye  pilfer' d  the  alms  o'  the  poor  ; 
The  timmer  is  scant  when  ye're  ta'en  for  a  saint, 

Wha  should  swing  in  a  rape  for  an  hour. 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  TOOTHACHE. 


101 


Calvin's  sons,  Calvin's  sons,  seize  your  sp'ritual  guns, 

Ammunition  you  never  can  need ; 
Your  hearts  are  the  stuff  will  be  powthei  enough, 

And  your  skulls  are  storehouses  o'  lead. 

Poet  Burns,  Poet  Burns,  wi'  your  priest-skelping  turns, 

Why  desert  ye  your  auld  native  shire  ? 
You  muse  is  a  gipsie,  e'en  tho'  she  were  tipsie, 

She  cou'd  ca'  us  nae  waur  than  we  are. 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  TOOTHACHE, 

WRITTEN  WHEN  THE  AUTHOR  WAS  GRIEVOUSLY  TORMENTED  BY  THAT  DISORDER. 


Mv  curse  upon  your  venom'd  stang, 
That  shoots  my  tortur'd  gums  alang  ; 
And  thro'  my  lugs  gies  monie  a  twang, 

Wi'  gnawing  vengeance ; 
Tearing  my  nerves  wi'  bitter  pang, 

Like  racking  engines ! 

When  fevers  burn,  or  ague  freezes, 
Rheumatics  gnaw,  or  cholic  squeezes  ; 
Our  neighbour's  sympathy  may  ease  us, 

Wi'  pitying  moan ; 
But  thee— thou  hell  o'  a'  diseases, 

Ay  mocks  our  groan  ! 

Adown  my  beard  the  slavers  trickle ! 
I  throw  the  wee  stools  o'er  the  mickle, 
As  round  the  fire  the  giglets  keckle 

To  see  me  loup  ; 
While,  raving  mad,  I  wish  a  heckle 

Were  in  their  doup. 


O'  a'  the  numerous  human  dools, 
111  har'sts,  daft  bargains,  cutty-stools, 
Or  worthy  friends  rak'd  i'  the  mools, 

Sad  sight  to  see  ! 
The  tricks  o'  knaves,  or  fash  o'  fools, 

Thou  bear'st  the  gree. 

Where'er  that  place  be  priests  ca'  hell, 
Whence  a'  the  tones  o'  mis'ry  yell, 
And  ranked  plagues  their  numbers  tell, 

In  dreadfu'  raw, 
Thou,  Toothache,  surely  bear'st  the  bell 

Amang  them  a'  ! 

O  thou  grim  mischief-making  chiel, 
That  gars  the  notes  of  discord  squeel, 
Till  daft  mankind  aft  dance  a  reel 

In  gore  a  shoe-thick  ; — 
Gie  a'  the  faes  o'  Scotland's  weal 

A  towmont's  Toothache ! 


WRITTEN  WITH  A  PENCIL 


OVER  THE  CHIMNEY-PIECE  IN  THE  PARLOUR  OF  THE  INN  AT  KBNMOBE,  TAYMOUTH. 


Admiring  Nature  in  her  wildest  grace, 
These  northern  scenes  with  weary  feet  I  trace ; 
O'er  many  a  winding  dale  and  painful  steep, 
Th'  abodes  of  covey  d  grouse  and  timid  sheep, 
My  savage  journey,  curious,  I  pursue, 
Till  fam'd  Breadalbane  opens  to  my  view. — 
The  meeting  cliffs  each  deep-sunk  glen  divides, 
The  woods,  wild  scatter'd,  clothe  their  ample  sides : 


I.G3. 


PIUTH  OF  A  POSTHUMOUS  CHILD. 


Th'  outstretching  lake,  embosom'd  'mong  the  hills, 
The  eye  ^iih  wonder  and  amazement  fills  ; 
The  Tay  meand'ring  sweet  in  infant  pride, 
The  palace  rising  on  his  verdant  side  ; 
The  lawns  wood-fringed  in  Nature's  native  taste 
The  hillocks  dropt  in  Nature's  careless  haste ; 
The  arches  striding  o'er  the  new-born  stream  ; 
The  village,  glittering  in  the  noontide  beam — 
*  *  «  * 

Poetic  ardours  in  my  bosom  swell, 

Lone  wand'ring  by  the  hermit's  mossy  cell : 

The  sweeping  theatre  of  hanging  woods ; 

Th'  incessant  roar  of  headlong  tumbling  floods- 

Here  Poesy  might  wake  her  heav'n-taught  lyre, 

And  look  through  Nature  with  creative  fire ; 

Here,  to  the  wrongs  of  Fate  half  reconcil'd, 

Misfortune's  lightened  steps  might  wander  wild  ; 

And  Disappointment,  in  these  lonely  bounds, 

Find  balm  to  soothe  her  bitter,  rankling  wounds  ; 

Here  heart-struck  Grief  might  heay'nward  stretch  her  9can, 

And  injur'd  Worth  forget  and  pardon  man. 


ON  THE  BIRTH  OF  A  POSTHUMOUS  CHILD, 

BORN  IN  PECULIAR  CIRCUMSTANCES  OF  FAMILY  DISTRESS. 


Sweet  flow'ret,  pledge  o'  meikle  love*, 
And  ward  o*  mony  a  prayer, 

What  heart  o'  stane  wad  thou  na  move, 
Sae  helpless,  sweet,  and  fair. 


May  He,  the  friend  of  woe  and  want, 
Who  heals  life's  various  stounds, 

Protect  and  guard  the  mother  plant, 
And  heal  her  cruel  wounds. 


November  hirples  o'er  the  lea, 
Chill,  on  thy  lovely  form  ; 

And  gane,  alas  !  the  shelt'ring  tree, 
Should  shield  thee  frae  the  storm. 

May  He  who  gives  the  rain  to  pour, 
And  wings  the  blast  to  blaw, 

Protect  thee  frae  the  driving  show'r, 
The  bitter  frost  and  snaw. 


Bttt  late  she  flourish'd,  rooted  fast, 
Fair  in  the  summer  morn  : 

Now,  feebly  bends  she  in  the  blast, 
Unshelter'd  and  forlorn. 

Blest  be  thy  bloom,  thou  lovely  gem, 
Unscath'd  by  ruffian  hand  ! 

And  from  thee  many  a  parent  stem 
Arise  to  deck  our  land. 


SECOND  EPISTLE  TO  DA  VIE. 


i°3 


WRITTEN  WITH  A  PENCIL. 

STANDING  BY  THE  FALL  OF  FYERS,   NEAR  LOCH-NESS. 

Among  the  heathy  hills  and  ragged  woods 

The  roaring  Fyers  pours  his  mossy  floods  ; 

Till  full  he  dashes  on  the  rocky  mounds, 

Where,  thro'  a  shapeless  breach,  his  stream  resounds* 

As  high  in  air  the  bursting  torrents  flow, 

As  deep  recoiling  surges  foam  below; 

Prone  down  the  rock  the  whitening  sheet  descends, 

And  viewless  Echo's  ear,  astonished,  rends. 

Dim-seen,  thro'  rising  mists  and  ceaseless  show'rs, 

The  hoary  cavern,  wide-surrounding,  low'rs. 

Still,  thro*  the  gap  the  struggling  river  toils, 

And  still,  below,  the  horrid  cauldron  boils— 


SECOND   EPISTLE  TO  DAVIE,  A  BROTHER  POET. 


AULD  NEEBOR, 

I'm  three  times  doubly  o'er  your  debtor, 
For  your  auld-farrant>  frien  ly  letter  ; 
Tho'  I  maun  say't,  I  doubt  ye  flatter, 

Ye  speak  sae  fair, 
For  my  puir,  silly,  rhymin  clatter 

Some  less  maun  sair. 

Hale  be  your  heart,  hale  be  your  fiddle  ; 
Lang  may  your  elbuck  jink  and  diddle, 
To  cheer  you  through  the  weary  widdle 

O'  war'ly  cares, 
Till  bairns'  bairns  kindly  cuddle 

Your  auld  gray  hairs. 

But  Davie,  lad,  I'm  red  ye' re  glaikit ; 
I'm  tauld  the  Muse  ye  hae  negleckit ; 
An'  gif  it's  sae,  ye  sud  be  licket 

Until  ye  fyke ; 
Sic  hauns  as  you  sud  ne'er  be  faikit, 

Be  hain't  wha  like. 

For  me,  I'm  on  Parnassus'  brink, 
Rivin'  the  words  to  gar  them  clink  ; 
Whyles  daez't  wi'  love,  whyles  daez't 
wi*  drink, 

Wi'  jads  or  masons  ; 
An*  whyles,  but  aye  owre  late,  I  think 

Braw  sober  lessons. 


Of  a'  the  thoughtless  sons  o'  man, 
Commend  me  to  the  Bardie  clan ; 
Except  it  be  some  idle  plan 

O'  rhymin  clink, 
The  olevil-haet,  that  I  sud  ban, 

They  ever  think. 

Nae  thought,  nae  view,  nae  scheme  o 

livin\ 
Nae  cares  to  gie  us  joy  or  grievin'  j 
But  just  the  pouchie  put  the  nieve  in, 

An'  while  ought's  there, 
Then  hiltie  skiltie,  We  gae  scrievin', 

An'  fash  nae  mair. , 

Leeze  me  on  rhyme  !  it's  aye  a  treasure, 
My  chief,  amaist  my  only  pleasure, 
At  hame,  a-fiel\  at  wark,  or  leisure, 

The  Muse,  poor  hizzie  ! 
Tho'  rough  an'raploch  be  her  measure, 

She's  seldom  lazy. 

Haud  to  the  Muse,  my  dainty  Davie  : 
The  warl'  may  play  you  monie  a  shavie ; 
But  for  the  Muse,  she'll  never  leave  ye,, 

Tho'  e'er  sae  puir, 
Na,  even  Jho'  limpin'  wi*  the  spavie 

Frae  door  tae  door. 


104 


THE  INVENTORY. 


THE  INVENTORY, 

IN  ANSWER  TO  THE  USUAL  MANDATE  SENT  BY  A  SURVEYOR  OP  THE  TAXES,    REQUIRING 
A  RETURN  OF  THE  NUMBER  OF  HORSES,  SERVANTS,  CARRIAGES,  ETC.   KEPT. 


Sir,  as  your  mandate  did  request, 
I  send  you  here  a  faithfu'  list, 
O'  gudes  an'  gear,  an*  a'  my  graith, 
To  which  I'm  clear  to  gi'e  my  aith. 

Imprimis  then,  for  carriage  cattle, 
I  have  four  brutes  o*  gallant  mettle, 
As  ever  drew  afore  a  pettle ; 
My  han*  afore 's  a  gude  auld  has-been, 
An'  wight  an'  wilfu'  a'  his  days  been  ; 
My  han'  ahin's  a  weel  gaun  fillie, 
That  aft  has  borne  me  hame  frae  Killie, 
An'  your  auld  burrough  monie  a  time, 
In  days  when  riding  was  nae  crime — 
But  ance  whan  in  my  wooing  pride 
I  like  a  blockhead  boost  to  ride, 
The  wilfu*  creature  sae  I  pat  to, 
(Lord,  pardon  a'  my  sins  an'  that  too  !) 
I  play'd  my  fillie  sic  a  shavie, 
She's  a'  bedevil' d  wi'  the  spavie. 
My  furr-ahin's  a  wordy  beast, 
As  e'er  in  tug  or  tow  was  trac'd,— 
The  fourth's,  a  Highland  Donald  hastie, 
A  damn'd  red-wud  Kilburnie  blastie. 
Foreby  a  Cowte,  o'  Cowte's  the  wale, 
As  ever  ran  afore  a  tail ; 
If  he  be  spar'd  to  be  a  beast, 
He'll  draw  me  fifteen  pun  at  least.— 

Wheel  carriages  I  ha'e  but  few, 
Three  carts,  an'  twa  are  feckly  new  , 
Ae  auld  wheelbarrow,  mair  for  token, 
Ae  leg,  an'  baith  the  trams,  are  broken  ; 
I  made  a  poker  o'  the  spin'le, 
An'  my  auld  mother  brunt  the  trin'le. 

For  men,  I've  three  mischievous  boys, 
Run  de'ils  for  rantin'  an'  for  noise  ; 
A  gaudsman  ane,  a  thrasher  t'other, 
Wee  Davock  hauds  the.nowte  in  fother. 
I  rule  them  as  I  Ought  discreetly, 
An'  often  labour  them  completely. 


An'  ay  on  Sundays  duly  nightly, 
I  on  the  questions  tairge  them  tightly  ; 
Till  faith,  wee  Davock's  grown  sae  gleg, 
Tho'  scarcely  langer  than  my  leg, 
He'll  screed  you  aff  Effectual  Calling, 
As  fast  as  onie  in  the  dwalling. — 

I've  nane  in  female  servan'  statipnr 
(Lord  keep  me  ay  frae  a'  temptation  !) 
I  ha'e  nae  wife,  and  that  my  bliss  is,- 
An'  ye  have  laid  nae  tax  on  misses ; 
An'  then  if  kirk  folks  dinna  clutch  me, 
I  ken  the  devils  dare  na  touch  me. 
Wi'  weans  I'm  mair  than  v/eel  contented, 
Heav'n  sent  me  ane  mae  than  I  wanted. 
My  sonsie  smirking  dear-bought  Bess, 
She  stares  the  daddy  in  her  face, 
Enough  of  ought  ye  like  but  grace. 
But  her,  my  bonie  sweet  Avee  lady, 
I've  paid  enough  for  her  already, 
An1  gin  ye  tax  her  or  her  mither, 
B'  the  Lord,  ye'se  get  them  a'  thegither. 

And  now,  remember,  Mr.  Aiken, 
Nae  kind  of  license  out  I'm  takin' ; 
Frae  this  time  forth,  I  doxleclare, 
I'se  ne'er  ride  horse  nor  hizzie  mair  j 
Thro'  dirt  and  dub  for  life  I'll  paidle, 
Ere  I  sae  dear  pay  for  a  saddle  ; 
My  travel  a'  on  foot  I'll  shank  it, 
I've  sturdy  bearers,  Gude  be  thankit  £— 
The  Kirk  an'  you  may  tak'  you  that, 
It  puts  but  little  in  your  pat  ; 
Sae  dinna  put  me  in  your  buke, 
Nor  for  my  ten  white  shillings  luke. 

This  list  Wi'  my  ain  han-I  wrote  it, 
Day  an'  date  as  under  notitj 
Then  know  all  ye  whom  it  concerns, 
Subscripsi  huic, 

Robert  Burns. 


Mcssgiel% 
February  22nd,  1786. 


THE  WHISTLE.  105 


THE    WHISTLE. 

A  BALLAD. 

I  sing  of  a  Whistle,  a  Whistle  of  worth, 
I  sing  of  a  Whistle,  the  pride  of  the  North, 
Was  brought  to  the  court  of  our  good  Scottish  king, 
And  long  with  this  Whistle  all  Scotland  shall  ring. 

Old  Loda,  still  rueing  the  arm  of  Fingal, 
The  god  of  the  bottle  sends  down  from  his  hall — 
'This  Whistle's. your  challenge,  in  Scotland  get  o'er, 
And  drink  them  to  hell,  Sir,  or  ne'er  see  me  more ! ' 

Old  poets  have  sung,  and  old  chronicles  tell, 
What  champions  ventur'd,  what  champions  fell ; 
The  son  of  great  Loda  was  conqueror  still, 
And  blew  on  the  Whistle  their  requiem  shrill. 

Till  Robert,  the  lord  of  the  Cairn  and  the  Scaur, 
Unmatch'd  at  the  bottle,  unconquer'd  in  war, 
He  drank  his  poor  god-ship  as  deep  as  the  sea, 
No  tide  of  the  Baltic  e'er  drunker  than  lie. 

Thus  Robert,  victorious,  the  trophy  has  gain'd, 
Which  now  in  his  house  has  for  ages  remain'd  ; 
Till  three  noble  chieftains,  and  all  of  his  blood, 
The  iovial  contest  again  have  renew'd. 

Three  joyous  good  fellows,  with  hearts  clear  of  flaw ; 
Craigdarroch,  so  famous  for  wit,  worth,  and  law; 
And  trusty  Glenriddel,  so  skill' d  in  old  coins  ; 
And  gallant  Sir  Robert,  deep-read  in  old  wines. 

Craigdarroch  began,  with  a  tongue  smooth  as  oil, 
Desiring  Glenriddel  to  yield  up  the  spoil ; 
Or  else  he  would  muster  the  heads  of  the  clan, 
And  once  more,  in  claret,  try  which  was  the  man. 

*  By  the  gods  of  the  ancients  1 '  Glenriddel  replies, 

•  Before  I  surrender  so  glorious  a  prize, 

I'll  conjure  the  ghost  of  the  great  Rorie  More, 
And  bumper  his  horn  with  him  twenty  times  o'er.' 

Sir  Robert,  a  soldier,  no  speech  would  preterid, 
But  he  ne'er  turn'd  his  back  on  his  foe — or  his  friend, 
Said,  toss  down  the  Whistle,  the  prize  of  the  field, 
And  knee-deep  in  claret,  he'd  die  ere  he'd  yield. 


106  THE  WHISTLE. 


To  the  board  of  Glenriddel  our  heroes  repair, 

So  noted  for  drowning  of  sorrow  and  care  ; 

But  for  wine  and  for  welcome  not  more  known  to  fame, 

Than  the  sense,  wit,  and  taste  of  a  sweet  lovely  dame. 

A  bard  was  selected  to  witness  the  fray, 
And  tell  future  ages  the  feats  of  the  day ; 
A  bard  who  detested  all  sadness  and  spleen, 
And'  wish'd  that  Parnassus  a  vineyard  had  been. 

The  dinner  being  over,  the  claret  they  ply, 

And  ev'ry  new  cork  is  a  new  spring  of  joy ; 

In  the  bands  of  old  friendship  and  kindred  so  set, 

And  the  bands  grew  the  tighter  the  more  they  were  wet 

Gay  Pleasure  ran  riot  as  bumpers  ran  o*er ; 
Bright  Phcebus  ne'er  witness*  d  so  joyous  a  core, 
And  vow'd  that  to  leave  them  he  was  quite  forlorn, 
Till  Cynthia  hinted  he'd  see  them  next  morn. 

Six  bottles  a-piece  had  well  wore  out  the  night, 
When  gallant  Sir  Robert,  to  finish  the  fight, 
Turn'd  o'er  in  one  bumper  a  bottle  of  red, 
And  swore  'twas  the  way  that  their  ancestors  did. 

Then  worthy  Glenriddel,  so  cautious  and  sage, 
No  longer,  the  warfare  ungodly  would  wage ; 
A  high-ruling  elder  to  wallow  in  wine  ! 
He  left  the  foul  business  to  folks  less  divine. 

The  gallant  Sir  Robert  fought  hard  to  the  end  j 
But  who  can  with  Fate  and  quart. bumpers  contend? 
Though  Fate  said,  a  hero  should  perish  in  light ; 
So  up  rose  bright  Phcebus— and  down  fell  the  knight 

Next  up  rose  our  bard,  like  a  prophet  in  drink  :  — 
1  Craigdarroch,  thou' It  soar  when  creation  shall  sink  ! 
But  if  thou  would  flourish  immortal  in  rhyme, 
Come — one  bottle  more — and  have  at  the  sublime  J, 

1  Thy  line,  that  have  struggled  for  freedom  with  Bruce, 

Shall  heroes  and  patriots  ever  produce  : 

So  thine  be  the  laurel,  and  mine  be  the  bay ; 

The  field  thou  hast  won,  by  yon  bright  god  of  day  ! ' 


TO  THE  RIGHT  HON.  C.  J.  FOX.  107 


SKETCH 

INSCRIBED  TO  THE  RIGHT  HON.  C.  J.  FOX. 

How  Wisdom  and  Folly  meet,  mix,  and  unite  ; 
How  Virtue  and  Vice  blend  their  black  and  their  white  j 
How  Genius,  th'  illustrious  father  of  fiction, 
Confounds  rule  and  law,  reconciles  contradiction — 
I  sing ;  If  these  mortals,  the  Critics,  should  bustle, 
I  care  not,  not  I — let  the  Critics  go  whistle  I 

But  now  for  a  Patron,  whose  name  and  whose  glory 
At  once  may  illustrate  and  honour  my  story. 

Thou,  first  of  our  orators,  first  of  our  wits ; 

Yet  whose  parts  and  acquirements  seem  just  lucky  hits  ; 

With  knowledge  so  vast,  and  with  judgment  so  strong, 

No  man,  with  the  half  of  'em,  e'er  could  go  wrong  ; 

With  passions  so  potent,  and  fancies  so  bright, 

No  man  with  the  half  of  'em  e'er  could  go  right ; 

A  sorry,  poor,  misbegot  son  of  the  Muses, 

For  using  thy  name  offers  fifty  excuses. 

Good  Lord,  what  is  man  !  for  as  simple  he  looks, 

Do  but  try  to  develop  his  hooks  and  his  crooks, 

With  his  depths  and  his  shallows,  his  good  and  his  evil. 

All  in  all,  he's  a  problem  must  puzzle  the  devil. 

On  his  one  ruling  Passion  Sir  Pope  hugely  labours, 

That,  like  th'  old  Hebrew  walking-switch,  eats  up  its  neighbours 

Mankind  are  his  show-box — a  friend,  would  you  know  him  ? 

Pull  the  string,  Ruling  Passion,  the  picture  will  show  him. 

What  pity,  in  rearing  so  beauteous  a  system, 

One  trifling  particular,  Truth,  should  have  miss'd  him  ! 

For,  spite  of  his  fine  theoretic  positions, 

Mankind  is  a  science  defies  definitions. 

Some  sort  all  our  qualities  each  to  its  tribe, 

And  think  Human -nature  they  truly  describe  , 

Have  you  found  this,  or  t'other?  there's  more  in  the  wind, 

As  by  one  "drunken  fellow  his  comrades  you'll  find. 

But  such  is  the  flaw,  or  the  depth  of  the  plan 

In  the  make  of  the  wonderful  creature  call'd  Man, 

No  two  virtues,  whatever  relation  they  claim, 

Nor  even  two  different  shades  of  the  same, 

Though  like  as  was  ever  twin-brother  to  brother 

Possessing  the  one  shall  imply  you've  the  other. 

But  truce  with  abstraction,  and  truce  with  a  muse, 
Whose  rhymes  you'll  perhaps,  Sir,  ne'er  deign  to  peruse  : 
Will  you  leave  your  justings,  your  jars,  and  your  quarrels, 
Contending  with  Billy  for  proud-nodding  laurels  1 


io8 


TO  DR.  BLACKLOCK. 


My  much-honour'd  Patron,  believe  your  poor  Poet, 
Your  courage  much  more  than  your  prudence  you  show  it, 
In  vain  with  Squire  Billy  for  laurels  you  struggle, 
He'll  have  them  by  fair  trade,  if  not,  he  will  smuggle ; 
Not  cabinets  even  of  kings  would  conceal  'em, 
He'd  up  the  back-stairs,  and  by  G —  he  would  steal  'em. 
Then  feats  like  Squire  Billy's  you  ne'er  can  atchieve  'em, 
It  is  not,  outdo  him — the  task  is,  out-thieve  him. 


TO   DR.    BLACKLOCK. 

ELLISLAND,  2 1ST  OCT.   1789. 


Wow,  but  your  letter  made  me  vauntie  ! 
And  are  ye  hale,  and  weel,  and  cantie  ? 
I  kenn'd  it  still  your  wee  bit  jauntie 

Wad  bring  ye  to  : 
Lord  send  you  ay  as  weel's  I  want  ye, 

And  then  ye'll  do. 


The  ill-thief  blaw  the  Heron  south  ! 
And  never  drink  be  near  his  drouth  ! 
He  tald  mysel  by  word  o'  mouth, 

He'd  tak  my  letter  ; 
I  lippen  d  to  the  chiel  in  trouth, 

And  bade  nae  better. 


But  aiblins  honest  Master  Heron 
Had  at  the  time  some  dainty  fair  one, 
To  ware  his  theologic  care  on, 

And  holy  study ; 
And  tir'd  o'  sauls  to  waste  his  lear  on, 

E'en  tried  the  body. 

But  what  d'ye  think,  my  trusty  ner, 
I'm  tum'd  a  gauger — Peace  be  here ! 
Parnassian  queens,  I  fear,  I  fear 

Ye'll  now  disdain  me  ! 
And  then  my  fifty  pounds  a  year 

Will  little  gain  me. 

Ye  glaiket,  gleesome,  dainty  damies, 
Wha  by  Castalia's  wimplin'  streamies, 
Lowp,  sing,  and  lave  your  pretty  limbies, 

Ye  ken,  ye  ken, 
That  Strang  necessity  supreme  is 

'Mang  sons  o'  men. 


I  hae  a  wife  and  twa  wee  laddies, 
They   maun  hae   brose  and  brats   o* 

duddies ; 
Ye  ken  yoursels  my  heart  right  proud  is— 

I  need  na  vaunt, 
But    I'll    sned    besoms— thraw   saugh 
woodies, 

Before  they  want. 

Lord  help  me  thro'  this  warld  o'  care  J 
I'm  weary  sick  o't  late  and  air ! 
Not  but  I  hae  a  richer  share 

Than  monie  ithers ; 
But  why  should  ae  man  better  fare, 

And  a'  men  brithers  ? 

Come,  Firm  Resolve,,  take  thou  the  van, 
Thou  stalk  o'  carl -hemp  in  man  ! 
And  let  us  mind,  faint  heart  ne'er  wan 

A  lady  fair  ; 
Wha  does  the  utmost  that  he  can, 

Will  whyles  do  mair. 

But  to  conclude  my  silly  rhyme, 
(I'm-scanto'  verse,  and  scant  o'  time,) 
To  make  a  happy  fire-side  clime 

To  weans  and  wife, 
That's  the  true  pathos  and  sublime 

Of  human  life. 

My  compliments  to  sister  Bcckie ; 
And  eke  the  same  to  honest  Lucky, 
I  wat'she  is  a  daintie  chuckie, 

As  e'er  tread  clay  ! 
And  gratefully,  my  guid  auld  cockie, 

I'm  yours  for  ay. 

Robert  Burns. 


ON  THE  LA  TE  MISS  BURNET.  109 


PROLOGUE, 

SPOKEN  AT  THE  THEATRE,  DUMFRIES,  ON  NEW  YEAR'S  DAY  EVENING.     [1790.J 

No  song  nor  dance  I  bring  from  yon  great  city 

That  queens  it  o'er  our  taste — the  more's  the  pity; 

Tho ,  by-the-by,  abroad  why  will  you  roam  ? 

Good  sense  and  taste  are  natives  here  at  home : 

But  not  for  panegyric  I  appear, 

I  come  to  wish  you  all  a  good  new-year ! 

Old  Father  Time  deputes  me  here  before  ye, 

Not  for  to  preach,  but  tell  his  simple  story : 

The  sage  grave  ancient  cough'd,  and  bade  me  say, 

•'  You're  one  year  older  this  important  day." 

If  wiser  too — he  hinted  some  suggestion, 

But  'twould  be  rude,  you  know,  to  ask  the  question : 

And  with  a  would-be  roguish  leer  and  wink. 

He  bade  me  on  you  press  this  one  word — "Think  V9 

Ye  sprightly  youths,  quite  flush  with  hope  and  spirit, 
Who  think  to  storm  the  world  by  dint  of  merit, 
To  you  the  dotard  has  a  deal  to  say, 
In  his  sly,  diy,  sententious,  proverb  way  ! 
He  bids  you  mind,  amid  your  thoughtless  rattle, 
That  the  first  blow  is  ever  half  the  battle ; 
That  tho'  some  by  the  skirt  may  try  to  snatch  him, 
Yet  by  the  forelock  is  the  hold  to  catch  him ; 
That  whether  doing,  suffering,  or  forbearing, 
You  may  do  miracles  by  persevering. 

Last,  tho'  not  least  in  love,  ye  youthful  fair, 
Angelic  forms,  high  Heaven's  peculiar  care  ! 
To  you  old  Bald-pate  smooths  his  wrinkled  brow, 
And  humbly  begs  you'll  mind  the  important — Paw  ! 
To  crown  your  happiness  he  asks  your  leave, 
And  offers  bliss  to  give  and  to  receive. 

For  our  sincere,  tho'  haply  weak  endeavours, 
With  grateful  pride  we  own  your  many  favours ; 
And  howsoe'er  our  tongues  may  ill  reveal  it, 
Believe  our  glowing  bosoms  truly  feel  it. 


ELEGY  ON  THE  LATE  MISS  BURNET, 

OF  MONBODDO. 

Life  ne'er  exulted  in  so  rich  a  prize 
As  Burnet,  lovely  from  her  native  skies ; 
Nor  envious  death  so  triumph'd  in  a  blow, 
As  that  which  laid  th'  accomplish'd  Burnet  low. 


no 


TO  A  GENTLEMAN. 


Thy  form  and  mind,  sweet  maid,  can  I  forget  ? 

In  richest  ore  the  brightest  jewel  set ! 

In  thee,  high  Heaven  above  was. truest  shown, 

And  by  his  noblest  work  the  Godhead  best  is  known. 

In  vain  ye  flaunt  in  summer's  pride,  ye  groves  ; 

Thou  crystal  streamlet  with  thy  flowery  shore, 
Ye  woodland  choir  that  chant  your  idle  loves, 

Ye  cease  to  charm — Eliza  is  no  more ! 

Ye  heathy  wastes,  immix'd  with  reedy  fens ; 

Ye  mossy  streams,  with  sedge  and  rushes  stor'd  ; 
Ye  rugged  cliffs  o'erhanging  dreary  glens, 

To  you  I  fly,  ye  with  my  soul  accord. 

Princes,  whose  cumbrous  pride  was  all  their  worth, 
Shall  venal  lays  their  pompous  exit  hail  ? 

And  thou,  sweet  excellence  !  forsake  our  earth, 
And  not  a  Muse  in  honest  grief  bewail  ? 

We  saw  thee  shine  in  youth  and  beauty's  pride, 
And  virtue's  light,  that  beams  beyond  the  spheres : 

But  like  the  sun  eclips'd  at  morning  tide, 
Thou  left'st  us  darkling  in  a  world  Of  tears. 

The  parent's  heart  that  nestled  fond  in  thee, 
That  heart  how  sunk,  .a  prey  to  grief  and  care ; 

So  deckt  the  woodbine  sweet  yon  aged  tree, 
So  from  it  ravish' d,  leaves  it  bleak  and  bare. 


THE  FOLLOWING  POEM  WAS  WRITTEN 

TO   A    GENTLEMAN    WHO    HAD    SENT    HIM    A    NEWSPAPER,    AND    OFFERED    TO 
CONTINUE  IT  FREE  OF  EXPENSE. 


KtND  Sir,  I've  read  your  paper  through, 
And,  faith,  to  me,  'twas  really  new  ! 
How  guess'd   ye,    Sir,   what  maist  I 

wanted  ? 
This   monie  a   day  I've  grain'd  and 

gaunted, 
To   ken   what    French    mischief  was 

brewin' ; 
Or  what  the  drumlie  Dutch  were  doin' ; 
That  vile  doup-skelper,  Emperor  Joseph, 
If  Venus  yet  had  got  his  nose  oft ; 
Or  how  the  collieshangie  works 
Atween  the  Russians  and  the  Turks ; 


Or  if  the  Swede,  before  he  halt, 
Would  play  anither  Charles  the  Twalt  : 
If  Denmark,  any  body  spak  o't; 
Or  Poland,  wha  had  now  the  tack  o't ; 
How  cut-throat   Prussian  blades  were 

hingin  ; 
How  libbet  Italy  was  singin  ; 
If  Spaniard,  Portuguese,  or  Swiss, 
Were  sayin  or  takin  aught  amiss ; 
Or  how  our  merry  lads  at  hame, 
In  Britain's  court,  kept  up  the  game  : 
How  royal  George,  the  Lord  leuk  o'ei 

turn! 


THE  RIGHTS  OF  WOMAN. 


Ill 


Was  managing  St.  Stephen's  quorum  ; 
If  sleekit  Chatham  Will  was  livin, 
Or  glaikit  Charlie  got  his  nieve  in  ; 
How  daddie  Burke  the  plea  was  cookin, 
If  Warren  Hastings'  neck  was  yeukin  ; 
How  cesses,  stents,  and  fees  were  rax'd, 
Or  if  bare  a — s  yet  were  tax'd ; 
The  news  o'  princes,  dukes,  and  earls, 
Pimps,  sharpers,  bawds,  and  opera-girls ; 
If  that  daft  buckie,  Geordie  Wales^ 
Was  threshin  still  at.hizzies'  tails  ; 
Or  if  he  was  grown  oughtlins  douser, 
And  no  a  perfect  kintra  cooser. — 
A'  this  and  mair  I  never  heard  of; 


And,  but  for  you,  I  might  despair'd  of. 
So  gratefu,  back  your  news  I  send  you, 
And  pray  a'  guid  things  may  attend  you  ! 
Ellisland,  Monday  Morning,  1790. 

Remonstrance  to  the  Gentleman  to  whom 
the  foregoing  Poem  was  addressed. 

Dear  Peter,  dear  Peter, 

We  poor  sons  of  metre 
Are  often  negleckit,  ye  ken  ; 

For  instance,  your  sheet,  man, 

(Though  glad  I'm  to  see't,  man, ) 
I  get  it  no  ae  day  in  ten.— R.B. 


LINES  ON  AN  INTERVIEW  WITH  LORD  DAER. 


This  wot  ye  all  whom  it  concerns, 
I  Rhymer  Robin,  alias  Burns, 

October  twenty-third, 
A  ne'er  to  be  forgotten  day, 
Sae  far  I  sprachled  up  the  brae, 

I  dinner'd  wi'  a  Lord. 

Fve  been  at  druken  writers'  feasts, 
Nay,  been  bitch-fou  'mang  godly  priests, 

Wi'  rev'rence  be  it  spoken  ; 
IVe  even  join'd  the  honour'd  jorum, 
When  mighty  Squireships  of  the  quorum 

Their  hydra  drouth  did  sloken. 

But  wi*  a  Lord — stand  out  my  shin  ; 
A  Lord — a  Peer — an  Earl's  son, 

Up  higher  yet,  my  bonnet ! 
And  sic  a  Lord — lang  Scotch  ells  twa, 
Our  Peerage  he  o'erlooks  them  a', 

As  I  look  o'er  my  sonnet. 

But,  O  for  Hogarth's  magic  pow'r  ! 
To  show  Sir  Bardie's  willyart  glow'r, 
Andhowhestar'dand  stammer'd, 


When  goavan,  as  if  led  wi'  branks, 
An'  stumpin  on  his  ploughman  shanks, 
He  in  the  parlour  hammer'd. 

I  sidling  shelter'd  in  a  nook, 
An'  at  his  Lordship  steal't  a  look, 

Like  some  portentous  omen ; 
Except  good  sense  and  social  glee, 
An'  (what  surprised  me)  modesty, 

I  marked  nought  uncommon. 

I  watch'd  the  symptoms  o'  the  Great, 
The  gentle  pride,  the  lordly  state, 

The  arrogant  assuming ; 
The  fient  a  pride,  nae  pride  had  he, 
Nor  sauce,  nor  state  that  I  could  see, 

Mair  than  an  honest  ploughman, 

Then  from  his  lordship  I  shall  learn, 
Henceforth  to  meet  with  unconcern 

One  rank  as  weel's  another ; 
Nae  honest  worthy  man  need  care 
To  meet  with  noble  youthful  Daer, 

For  he  but  meets  a  brother. 


THE  RIGHTS   OF  WOMAN. 

PROLOGUE  SPOKEN   6V  MISS  FONTENELLE  ON   HER   BENEFIT-NIGHT.      [NOV.    26,    I7ga.] 

While  Europe's  eye  is  fix'd  on  mighty  things, 
The  fate  of  Empires  and  the  fall  of  Kings  ; 
While  quacks  of  State  must  each  produce  his  plan, 
And  even  children  lisp  The  Right3  of  Man  j 


112  MISS  FONTENELLE. 

Amid  the  mighty  fuss  just  let  me  mention, 
The  Rights  of  Woman  merit  some  attention. 

First,  in  the  Sexes'  intermix'd  connexion, 
One  sacred  Right  of  Woman  is,  Protection. — 
The  tender  flower  that  lifts  its  head,  elate, 
Helpless,  must  fall  before  the  blasts  of  Fate, 
Sunk  on  the  earth,  defac'd  its  lovely  form, 
Unless  your  shelter  ward,  th'  impending  storm. 

Our  second  Right — but  needless  here  is  caution, 
To  keep  that  Right  inviolate 's  the  fashion, 
Eacli  man  of  sense  has  it  so  full  before  him, 
He'd  die  before  he'd  wrong  it — 'tis  Decorum. 
There  was,  indeed,  in  far  less  polish' d  days, 
A  time,  when  rough  rude  man  had  naughty  ways  ; 
Would  swagger,  swear,  get  drunk,  kick  up  a  riot, 
Nay,  even  thus  invade  a  Lady's  quiet ! — 
Now,  thank  our  stars  !    those  Gothic  times  are  fled  ; 
Now,  well-bred  men — and  you  are  all  well-bred  ! 
Most  justly  think  (and  we  are  much  the  gainers) 
Such  conduct  neither  spirit,  wit,  nor  manners. 

For  Right  the  third,  our  last,  our  best,  our  dearest, 
That  Right  to  fluttering  female  hearts  the  nearest, 
Which  even  the  Rights  of  Kings  in  low  prostration 
Most  humbly  own — 'tis  dear,  dear  admiration  ! 
In  that  blest  sphere  alone  we  live  and  move ; 
There  taste  that  life  of  life — immortal  love.— 
Sighs,  tears,  smiles,  glances,  fits,  flirtations,  airs, 
'Gainst  such  an  host  what  flinty  savage  dares — 
When  awful  Beauty  joins  with  all  her  charms, 
Who  is  so  rash  as  rise  in  rebel  arms  ? 

Then  truce  with  kings,  and  truce  with  constitutions, 
With  bloody  armaments  and  revolutions  ! 
Let  Majesty  your  first  attention  summon, 
Ah !  ca  ira !  The  Majesty  of  Woman  J 


ADDRESS,  SPOKEN  BY  MISS  FONTENELLE, 

ON  HER   BENEFIT-NIGHT,    DECEMBER  4,    1795, 
AT  THE  THEATRE,   DUMFRIES. 

STILL  anxious  to  secure  your  partial  favour, 
And  not  less  anxious,  sure,  this  night,  than  ever, 
A  Prologue,  Epilogue,  or  some  such  matter, 
'Twould  vamp  my  bill,  said  I,  if  nothing  better  ; 
So  sought  a  Poet,  roosted  near  the  skies, 
Told  him  I  came  to  feast  my  curious  eyes ; 
Said,  nothing  like  his  works  was  ever  printed ; 
And  last,  my  Prologue -business  slily  hinted. 

*  Ma'am,  let  me  tell  you,'  quoth  my  man  of  rhymes, 

•  I  know  your  bent  —these  are  no  laughing  times : 


VERSES  TO  A   YOUNG  LADY.  113 

Can  you — but,  Miss,  I  own  I  have  my  fears — 
Dissolve  in  pause— and  sentimental  tears? 
With  laden  sighs,  and  solemn -rounded  sentence, 
Rouse  from  his  sluggish  slumbers  fell  Repentance ; 
Paint  Vengeance  as  he  takes  his  horrid  stand, 
Waving  on  high  the  desolating  brand, 
Calling  the  storms  to  bear  him  o'er  a  guilty  land  ?' 

I  could  no  more — askance  the  creature  eyeing, 
D'ye  think,  said  I,  this  face  was  made  for  crying  ? 
I'll  laugh,  that's  poz — nay,  more,  the  world  shall  know  it ; 
And  so,  your  servant !  gloomy  Master  Poet ! 

Firm  as  my  creed,  Sirs,  'tis  my  fix'd  belief, 
That  Misery's  another  word  for  Grief; 
I  also  think  —  so  may  I  be  a  bride  ! 
That  so  much  laughter,  so  much  life  enjoy'd. 

Thou  man  of  crazy  care  and  ceaseless  sigh, 
Still  under  bleak  Misfortune's  blasting  eye  ; 
Doom'd  to  that  sorest  task  of  man  alive- — 
To  make  three  guineas  do  the  work  of  five : 
Laugh  in  Misfortune's  face — the  beldam  witch ! 
Say,  you'll  be  merry,  tho'  you  can't  be  rich. 

Thou  other  man  of  care,  the  wretch  in  love, 
Who  long  with  jiltish  arts  and  airs  hast  strove ; 
Who,  as  the  boughs  all  temptingly  project, 
Measur'st  in  desperate  thought — a  rope^-thy  neck— 
Or,  v/here  the  beetling  cliff  o'erhangs  the  deep, 
Peerest  to  meditate  the  healing  leap  : 
Wouldst  thou  be  cur'd,  thou  silly,  moping  elf  ? 
Laugh  at  her  follies — laugh  e'en  at  thyself : 
Learn  to  despise  those  frowns  now  so  terrific, 
And  love  a  kinder — that's  your  grand  specific 

To  sum  up  all,  be  merry,  I  advise  ; 
And  as  we're  merry,  may  we  still  be  wise. 


VERSES  TO  A  YOUNG  LADY 

WITH  A  PRESENT   OF  SONGS. 

Here,  where  the  Scottish  Muse  immortal  lives, 
In  sacred  strains  and  tuneful  numbers  join'd, 

Accept  the  gift ;  tho'  humble  he  who  gives, 
Rich  is  the  tribute  of  the  grateful' mind. 


So  may  no  ruffian-feeling  in  thy  breast 
Discordant  jar  thy  bosom- chords  among ! 

But  Peace  attune  thy  gentle  soul  to  rest, 
Or  Love,  ecstatic,  wake  his  seraph  song ! 

Or  Pity's  notes,  in  luxury  of  tears, 
As  modest  Want  the  tale  of  woe  reveals ; 

WThile  conscious  Virtue  all  the  strain  endears, 
And  heaven-born  Piety  her  sanction  seals  I 


U4 


POEMS. 


POEM  ON  PASTORAL  POETRY. 


Hail,  Poesie !  thou  Nymph  reserv'd  ! 
Inchaseo'  thee,  what  crowds  hae  swerv'd 
Frae  common  sense,  or  sunk  enerv'd 

'Mang  heaps  o'  clavers ; 
And  och !  o'er  aft  thy  joes  hae  starv'd, 

'Mid  a'  thy  favours ! 

Say,  Lassie,  why  thy  train  amang, 
While  loud  the  trump's  heroic  clang, 
And  sock  or  buskin  skelp  alang 

To  death  or  marriage ; 
Scarce  ane  has  tried  the  shepherd-sang 

But  wV  miscarriage  ? 

In  Homer's  craft  Jock  Milton  thrives ; 
Eschylus'  pen  Will  Shakespeare  drives  ; 
Wee  Pope,  the  knurlin,  'till  him  rives 

Horatian  fame  ; 
In  thy  sweet  sang,  Barbauld,  survives 

Even  Sappho's  flame. 

But  thee,  Theocritus,  wha  matches  ? 
They're  no  herd's  ballats,  Maro's  catches; 
Squire   Pope  but  busks,  his    skinklin 
patches 

O'  heathen  tatters :. 
I  pass  by  hunders,  nameless  wretches, 

That  ape  their  betters. 

In  this  braw  age  o'  wit  and^ear, 
Will  nane  the  Shepherd's' whistle  mair 
Blaw  sweetly  in  its  native  air 


And  rural  grace ; 
And  wi'  the  far-fam'd  Grecian  share 
A  rival  place  ? 

Yes  !  there  is  ane ;  a  Scottish  callan— 
There's  ane  ;  come  forrit,  honest  Allan ! 
Thou  need  na  jouk  behint  the  hallan, 

A  chiel  sae  clever ; 
The  teeth  o'  Time  may  gnaw  Tamtalian, 

But  thou's  for  ever  ! 

Thou  paints  auld  Nature  to  the  nines, 
In  thy  sweet  Cale4onian  lines; 
Naegowden  stream  thro'  myrtles  twines. 

Where  Philomel, 
While  nightly  breezes  sweep  the  vines, 

Her  griefs  will  tell ! 

In  gowany  glens  thy  burnie  strays, 
Where  bonie  lasses  bleach  their  claes  ; 
Or  trots  by  hazelly  shaws  and  braes, 

Wi'  hawthorns  gray, 
Where  blackbirds  join  the  shepherd's 
lays 

At  close  o*  day. 

Thy  rural  loves  are  nature's  sel' ; 
Nae  bombast  spates  o'  nonsense  swell ; 
Nae  snap  conceits ;  but  that  sweet  spell 

O'  witchin'  love ; 
That  charm  that  can  the  strongest  quell, 

The  sternest  move. 


WRITTEN  ON  THE  BLANK  LEAF  OF  THE  LAST  EDITION 

OF   HIS  POEMS, 


PRESENTED  TO  THE  LADV  WHOM   HE  HAD  OFTEN  CELEBRATED 
UNDER  THE  NAME  OF  CHLORIS. 


'Tis  Friendship's  pledge,  my  young,  fair 
friend, 

Nor  thou  the  gift  refuse, 
Nor  with  unwilling  ear  attend 

The  moralizing  Muse. 

Since  thou,  in  all  thy  youth  and  charms, 
Must  bid  the  world  adieu, 


(A  world  'gainst  peace  in  constant  arms) 
To  join  the  friendly  few. 


Since,  thy  gay  morn  of  life  o'ercast. 
Chill  came  the  tempest's  lower, 

(And  ne'er  misfortune's  eastern  blast 
Did  nip  a  fairer  flower.-j 


IV  MK.  WILL. 

(AM  TYTLER.                                   115 

Since  life's  gay  scenes  must  charm  no 

And,  dearest  gift  of  heaven  below, 

more, 

Thine  friendship's  truest  heart. 

Still  much  is  left  behind  ; 

Still  nobler  wealth  hast  thou  in  store — 

The  comforts  of  the  mind  ! 

The  joys  refin'd  of  sense  and  taste, 

With  eveiy  muse  to  rove  : 

Thine  is  the  self-approving  glow, 

And  doubly  were  the  poet  blest, 

On  conscious  honour's  part ; 

These  joys  could  he  improve. 

POETICAL  ADDRESS  TO  MR.  WILLIAM  TYTLER, 

WITH  THE  PRESENT  OF  THE  BARD'S  PICTURE. 

Revered  defender  of  beauteous  Stuart, 

Of  Stuart,  a  name  once  respected, 
A  name,  which  to  love,  was  the  mark  of  a  true  heart, 

But  now  'tis  despis'd  and  neglected. 

Tho'  something  like  moisture  conglobes  in  my  eye, 

Let  no  one  misdeem  me  disloyal ; 
A  poor  friendless  wand'rer  may  well  claim  a  sigh, 

Still  more,  if  that  wand'rer  were  royal. 

My  fathers  that  name  have  rever'd  on  a  throne ; 

My  fathers  have  fallen  to  right  it ; 
Those  fathers  would  spurn  their  degenerate  son, 

That  name  should  he  scomngly  slight  it. 

Still  in  prayers  for  King  George  I  most  heartily  join, 

The  Queen,  and  the  rest  of  the  gentry, 
Be  they  wise,  be  they  foolish,  is  nothing  of  mine ; 

Their  title's  avow  d  by  my  country. 

But  why  of  this  epocha  make  such  a  fuss, 

That  gave  us  the  Hanover  stem  ? 
If  bringing  them  over  was  lucky  for  us, 

I'm  sure  'twas  as  lucky  for  them. 

But,  loyalty,  truce  !  we're  on  dangerous  ground, 

Who  knows  how  the  fashions  may  alter  ? 
The  doctrine,  to-day,  that  is  loyalty  sound, 

To-morrow  may  bring  us  a  halter. 

I  send  you  a  trifle,  a  head  of  a  bard, 

A  trifle  scarce  worthy  your  care  ; 
But  accept  it,  good  Sir,  as  a  mark  of  regard, 

Sincere  as  a  saint's  dying  prayer. 

Now  life's  chilly  evening  dim  shades  in  your  eye, 

And  ushers  the  long  dreary  night ; 
But  you,  like  the  star  that  athwart  gilds  the  sky, 

Your  course  to  the  latest  is  bright. 
1  9 


u6 


ON  MR.  WILLIAM  SMELUE. 


SKETCH.—NEW-YEAR  DAY.    [1790.] 


TO  MRS.   DUNI.DP. 


This  day  Time  winds  th'  exhausted 

chain, 
To  run  the  twelvemonth's  length  again  : 
I  see  the  old,  bald-pated  fellow, 
With  ardent  eyes,  complexion  sallow, 
Adjust  the  unimpair'd  machine 
To  wheel  the  equal,  dull  routine. 

The  absent  lover,  minor  heir, 
In  vain  assail  him  with  their  prayer, 
Deaf,  as  my  friend,  he  sees  them  press, 
Nor  makes  the  hour  one  moment  less. 
Will  you  (the  Major's  with  the  hounds, 
The  happy  tenants  share  his  rounds ; 
Coila's  fair  Rachel's  care  to-day, 
And  blooming  Keith's  engaged  with 

Gray) 
From  housewife  cares  a  minute  borrow — 
—That  grandchild's  cap  will   do  to- 
morrow— 
And  join  with  me  a  moralizing, 
This  day's  propitious  to  be  wise  in. 

First,  what  did  yesternight  deliver? 

*  Another  year  has  gone  for  ever.' 
And  what  is  this  day's  strong  suggestion  ? 

*  The  passing  moment's  all  we  rest  on  ! ' 
Rest  on — for  what  ?  what  do  we  here  ? 
Or  why  regard  the  passing  year  ? 


Will  Time,  amus'd  with  proverb'd  lore, 
Add  to  our  date  one  minute  more? 
A  few  days  may,  a  few  years  must, 
Repose  us  in  the  silent  dust ; 
Then  is  it  wise  to  damp  our  bliss? 
Yes — ail  such  reasonings  are  amiss  ! 
The  voice  of  Nature  loudly  cries, 
And  many  a  message  from  the  skies, 
That  something  in  us  never  dies  ; 
That  on  this  frail,  uncertain  state 
Hang  matters  of  eternal  weight ; 
That  future-life  in  worlds  unknown 
Must  take  its  hue  from  this  alone  ; 
Whether  as  heavenly  glory  bright, 
Or  dark  as  misery's  woful  night. — 

Since  then,  my  honor'd,  first  of  friends, 
On  this  poor  being  all  depends ; 
Let  us  th'  important  Now  employ, 
And  live  as  those  that  never  die. 

Tho'  you,    with    days   and    honors 
crown'd, 
Witness  that  filial  circle  round, 
(A  sight — life's  sorrows  to  repulse ; 
A  sight — pale  Envy  to  convulse  ;) 
Others  may  claim  your  chief  regard ; 
Yourself,  you  wait  your  bright  reward. 


EXTEMPORE,   ON* MR.   WILLIAM   SMELLIE, 

AUTHOR  OF  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  NATURAL   HISTORY, 
AND    MEMBER    OF    THE    ANTIQUARIAN    AND    ROYAL    SOCIETIES    OF  EDINBURGH. 

To  Crochallan  came, 
The  old  cock'd  hat,  the  grey  surtout,  the  same ; 
His  bristling  beard  just  rising  in  its  might, 
'Twas  four  long  nights  and  days  to  shaving  night ; 
His  uncomb'd  grizzly  locks  wild  staring,  thatch'd 
A  head  for  thought  profound  and  clear,  unmatched 
Yet  tho'  his  caustic  wit  was  biting,  rude, 
His  heart  was  warm,  benevolent,  and  good, 


MOMOD  Y  ON  A  LAD  V.  117 

INSCRIPTION   FOR  AN  ALTAR 

TO  INDEPENDENCE,   AT   KERROUGHTRY,  SEAT  OF  MR.    HERON,   WRITTEN  IN  SUMMER.    17)5. 

Thou  of  an  independent  mind, 
With  soul  resolv'd,  with  soul  resign'd  ; 
Prepar'd  Power's  proudest  frown  to  brave, 
Who  wilt  not  be,  nor  have  a  slave  ; 
Virtue  alone  who  dost  revere, 
Thy  own  reproach  alone  dost  fear, 
Approach  this  shrine,  and  worship  here. 

MONODY  ON  A  LADY  FAMED  FOR  HER  CAPRICE. 

How  cold  is  that  bosom  which  folly  once  fired, 
How  pale  is  that  cheek  where  the  rouge  lately  glisten'd  ! 

How  silent  that  tongue  which  the  echoes  oft  tir'd, 
How  dull  is  that  ear  which  to  flattery  so  listen'd  ! 

If  sorrow  and  anguish  their  exit  await, 

From  friendship  and  dearest  affection  remov'd  ; 
How  doubly  severer,  Maria,  thy  fate, 

Thou  diedst  unwept,  as  thou  livedst  unlov'd. 

Loves,  Graces,  and  Virtues,  I  call  not  on  you , 

So  shy,  grave,  and  distant,  ye  shed  not  a  tear : 
But  come,  all  ye  offspring  of  Folly  so  true, 

And  flowers  let  us  cull  for  Maria's  cold  bier. 

We'll  search  thro'  the  garden  for  each  silly  flower, 
We'll  roam  through  the  forest  for  each  idle  weed  ; 

But  chiefly  the  nettle,  so  typical,  shower, 

For  none  e'er  approach'd  her  but  rued  the  rash  deed. 

We'll  sculpture  the  marble,  we'll  measure  the  lay ; 

Here  Vanity  strums  on  her  idiot  lyre  ; 
There  "keen  Indignation  shall  dart  on  her  prey, 

Which  spurning  Contempt  shall  redeem  from  his  ire. 

THE  EPITAPH. 

Here  lies,  now  a  prey  to  insulting  neglect, 

What  once  was  a  butterfly,  gay  in  life's  beam  : 
Want  only  of  wisdom  denied  her  respect, 

Want  only  of  goodness  denied  her  esteem. 


itS 


Otf  MRS.  RWDEVS  BIRTHDAY. 


SONNET,  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ROBERT  RIDDEL.  ESQ: 
OF  GLENRIDDEL 

[April, 1 794-) 

No  more  ye  warblers  of  the  wood— no  more  ! 

Nor  pour  your  descant,  grating  on  my  soul ; 

Thou  youug-eyed  Spring,  gay  in  thy  verdant  stole, 
More  welcome  were  to  me  grim  Winter's  wildest  roar. 

How  can  ye  charm,  ye  flow'rs,  with  all  your  dyes? 

Ye  blow  upon  the  sod  that  wraps  my  friend : 

How  can  I  to  the  tuneful  strain  attend  ? 
That  strain  flows  round  th'  untimely  tomb  where  Riddel  lies. 

Yes,  pour,  ye  warblers*  pour  the  notes  of  woe  I 
And  soothe  the  Virtues,  weeping  o'er  his  bier  : 
The  Man  of  Worth,  and  has  not  left  his  peer, 

Is  in  his  "narrow  house "  for  ever  darkly  low. 

Thee,  Spring,  again  with  joys  shall  others  greet  *f 
Me,  mem'ry  of  my  loss  will  only  meet. 


IMPROMPTU,  ON  MRS.  RIDDEL'S  BIRTHDAY, 
NOVEMBER  4,  1793- 


Old  Winter  with  his  frosty  beard, 
Thus  once  to  Jove  his  prayer  preferr'd,  — 
*  What  have  I  done  of  all  the  year, 
To  bear  this  hated  doom  severe  ? 
My  cheerless  suns  no  pleasure  know ; 
Night's  horrid  car  drags,  dreary  slow ; 
My  dismal  months  no  joys  are  crowning, 
But  spleeny  English,  hanging,  drowning. 
Now,*  Jove,  for  once  be  mighty  civil, 


To  counterbalance  all  this  evil ; 
Give  me,  and  I've  no  more  to  say, 
Give  me  Maria's  natal  day ! 
That  brilliant  gift  will  so  enrich  me, 
Spring,  Summer,  Autumn,  cannot  match 

me ; 
c  'Tis  done  ! *  says  Jove ;  so  ends  my 

story, 
And  Winter  once  rejoic'd  in  glory. 


TO    A  YOUNG    LADY,    MISS    JESSY    LEWARS,    DUMFRIES* 

WITH   BOOKS  WHICH  THE  BARD  PRESENTED  HER.      [JUNE  26TH,    J796) 


Thine  be  the  volumes,  Jessy  fair, 
And  with  them  take  the  Poet's  prayer- 
That  fate  may  in  her  fairest  page, 
With  every  kindliest,  best  presage 
Of  future  bliss,  enrol  thy  name  ; 
With  native  worth,  and  spotless  fame* 


And  wakeful  caution  still  aware 
Of  ill — but  chief,  man's  felon  snare  r 
All  blameless  joys  on  earth  we  find, 
And  all  the  treasures  of  the  mind — 
These  be  thy  guardian  and  reward; 
So  prays  thy  faithful  friend*  the  Bard. 


TO  MR.  SYME. 


119 


VERSES 

WRITTEN  UNDER  VIOLENT  CRIEP. 


ACCEPT  the  gift  a  friend  sincere 

Wad  on  thy  worth  be  pressin' ; 
Remembrance  oft  may  start  a  tear, 
But  oh  !  that  tenderness  forbear, 
Though  'twad  my  sorrows  lessen. 

My  morning  raise  sae  clear  and  fair, 

I  thought  sair  storms  wad  never 
Bedew  the  scene  ;  but  grief  and  care 
In  wildest  fury  hae  made  bare 
My  peace,  my  hope,  for  ever  ! 


You  think  I'm  glad ;  oh,  I  pay  weel 

For  a7  the  joy  I  borrow, 
In  solitude — then,  then  I  feel 
I  canna  to  mysel'  conceal 

My  deeply-  ranklin'  sorrow. 

Farewell !  within  thy  bosom  free 

A  sigh  may  whiles  awaken ; 
A  tear  may  wet  thy  laughin'  ee, 
For  Scotia's  son — ance  gay  like  thee— 
Now  hopeless,  comfortless,  forsaken  ! 


EXTEMPORE  TO   MR.   SYME, 

ON  REFUSING  TO  DINE  WITH   HIM, 
AFTER   HAVING  BEEN   PROMISED  THE  FIRST  OP  COMPANY,   AND  THE  PIRST  OF  COOKERV. 

17/A  December,  1795. 

No  more  of  your  guests,  be  they  titled  or  not, 

And  cook'ry  the  first  in  the  nation ; 
Who  is  proof  to  thy  personal  converse  and  wit, 

Is  proof  to  all  other  temptation. 


TO   MR*  SYME, 


WITH  A  PRESENT  OF  A  DOZEN  OF  PORTER. 


O,  had  the  malt  thy  strength  of  mind, 
Or  hops  the  flavour  of  thy  wit, 

'Twere  drink  for  first  of  human  kind, 
A  gift  that  e'en  for  Syine  were  fit. 
Jerusalem  TaVern,  Dumfries. 


SONNET, 

ON  HEARING  A  THRUSH  SING    IN  A  MORNING  WALK  IN  JANUARY,  WRITTEN  25TH  JANUARY,  1793, 
THE  BIRTH-DAY  OP  THE  AUTHOR. 

Sing  on,  sweet  Thrush,  upon  the  leafless  bough  ; 

Sing  on,  sweet  bird,  I  listen  to  thy  strain  : 

See  aged  Winter,  'mid  his  surly  reign, 
At  thy  blythe  carol  clears  his  furrow'd  brow. 


120 


TO  A  GENTLEMAN. 


So  in  lone  Poverty's  dominion  drear 

Sits  meek  Content  with  light  unanxious  heart, 
Welcomes  the  rapid  moments,  bids  them  part, 

Nor  asks  if  they  bring  aught  to  hope  or  fear. 

I  thank  thee,  Author  of  this  opening  day ! 

Thou  whose  bright  sun  now  gilds  the  orient  skies  \ 

Riches  denied,  thy  boon  was  purer  joys, 
What  wealth  could  never  give  nor  take  away  I 

Yet  come,  thou  child  of  poverty  and  care ; 

The  mite  high  Heaven  bestow'd,  that  mite  with  thee  I'll  share. 


POEM,  ADDRESSED  TO  MR.  MITCHELL, 

COLLECTOR  OF  EXCISE,    DUMFRIES,    [DECEMBER,    I795J 


Friend  of  the  Poet,  tried  and  leal, 
Wha,  wanting  thee,  might  beg  or  steal ; 
Alake,  alake,  the  meikle  Deil 

Wi'  a'  his  witches 
Are  at  it,  skelpin  !  jig  and  reel, 

In  my  poor  pouches. 

I  modestly  fu'  fain  wad  hint  it, 
That  one  pound  one,  I  sairly  want  it : 
If  wi'  the  hizzie  down  ye  sent  it, 

It  would  be  kind ; 
And  while  my  heart  wi'  life-blood  dun  ted, 

I'd  bear't  in  mind. 

So  may  the  auld  year  gang  out  moaning 
To  see  the  new  come  laden,  groaning, 
Wi'  double  plenty  o'er  the  loanin 

To  thee  and  thine ; 
Domestic  peace  and  comforts  crowning 

The  hale  design. 


POSTSCRIPT. 

Ye've  heard  this  while  how  I've  been 
licket, 

;   And  by  fell  death  was  nearly  nicket : 
Grim  loon !  he  gat  me  by  the  fecket, 

And  sair  me  sheuk ; 
But  by  guid  luck  I  lap  a  wicket, 

And  turn'd  a  neuk. 

But  by  that  health,  I've  got  a  share  o't, 
And  by  that  life,  I'm  promis'd  mair  o't, 
My  heal  and  weal  I'll  take  a  care  o't 

A  tentier  way : 
Then  fareweel  folly,  hide  and  hair  o't, 

For  ance  and  aye. 


SENT  TO  A  GENTLEMAN  WHOM  HE  HAD  OFFENDED. 


The  friend  whom  wild  from  wisdom's 
way 

The  fumes  of  wine  infuriate  send  ; 
(Not  moony  madness  more  astray  ;) 

Who  but  deDlores  that  hapless  friend? 


Mine  was  th'  insensate  frenzied  part, 
Ah  why  should  I  such  scenes  out- 
live? 

Scenes  so  -abhorrent  to  my  heart ! 
Tis  thine  to  pity  and  forgive. 


TO  ROBERT  GRAHAM,  ESQ. 


121 


POEM  ON  LIFE, 

ADDRESSED  TO  COLONEL  DE  PEYSTER,  DUMFRIES,   1796. 


My  honour'd  Colonel,  deep  I  feel 
Your  interest  in  the  Poet's  weal ; 
Ah  !  now  sma'  heart  hae  I  to  speel 

The  steep  Parnassus,- 
Surrounded  thus  by  bolus  pill, 

And  potion  glasses. 

O  what  a  canty  warld  were  it, 

Would  pain,   and  care,    and  sickness 

spare  it ; 
And  fortune  favour  worth  and  merit, 

As  they  deserve : 
(And  aye  a  rowth,  roast  beef  and  claret ; 
Syne  wha  wad  starve  ?) 

Dame  Life,  tho*  fiction  out  may  trick  her, 
And  in  paste  gems  and  fripp'ry  deck  her; 
Oh !  flick'ring,  feeble,  and  unsicker 

I've  found  her  still, 
Aye  wav'ring  like  the  willow  wicker, 

'Tween  good  and  ill. 

Then  that  curst  carmagnole,  auld  Satan, 
Watches,  like  baudrons  by  a  rattan. 
Our  sinfu'  saul  to  get  a  claut  on 

Wi'  felon  ire ; 
Syne,  whip  !  his  tail  ye'll  ne'er  cast 
saut  on, 

He's  off  like  fire. 


Ah  Nick !  ah  Nick  !  it  isna  fair, 
First  shewing  us  the  tempting  ware, 
Bright  wines  and  bonie  lasses  rare, 

To  put  us  daft ; 
Syne  weave,  unseen,  thy  spider  snare 

O'  hell's  damn'd  waft. 

Poor  man,  the  Hie,  aft  bizziesby, 
And  aft  as  chance  he  comes  thee  nigh, 
Thy  auld  damn'd  elbow  yeuks  wi*  joy, 

And  hellish  pleasure ; 
Already  in  thy  fancy's  eye, 

Thy  sicker  treasure. 

Soon  heels-o'er-gowdie !  in  he  gangs, 
And  like  a  sheep-head  on  a  tangs, 
Thy  girnmg  laugh  enjoys  his  pangs 

And  murd'ring  wrestle, 
As,  dangling  in  the  wind,  he  hangs 

A' gibbet's  tassel. 

But  lest  you  think  I  am  uncivil, 

To  plague  you  with  this  draunting  drivel, 

Abjuring  a'  intentions  evil, 

I  quat  my  pen  i 
The  Lord  preserve  us  frae  the  Devil ! 

Amen !  amen ! 


TO  ROBERT  GRAHAM,  ESQ.  OF  FINTRY, 


ON  RECEIVING  A  FAVOUR. 


I  CALL  no  Goddess  to  inspire  my  strains, 
A  fabled  Muse  may  suit  a  Bard  that 

feigns ; 
Friend  of  my  life !  my  ardent  spirit  burns, 
And  all  the  tribute  of  my  heart  returns, 
For  boons  recorded,  goodness  ever  new, 
The  gift  still  dearer,  as  the  giver  you. 


Thou  orb  of  day !  thou  other  paler  light ! 
And  all  ye  many  sparkling  stars  of  night ; 
If  aught  that  giver  from  my  mind  efface  ; 
If  I  that  giver's  bounty  e'er  disgrace ; 
Then  roll  to  me,  along  your  wand'ring 

spheres, 
Only  to  number  out  a  villain's  years  ! 


EPITAPH  ON  A  FRIEND. 


An  honest  man  here  lies  at  rest, 
As  e'er  God  with  his  image  blest ; 
The  friend  of  man,  the  friend  of  truth  \ 
.The  friend  of  age,  and  guide  of  youth  : 


Few  hearts  like  his,  with  virtue  warm'd, 
Few  heads  with  knowledge  so  inform'd  \ 
If  there's  another  world,  he  lives  in  biissj 
If  there  is  none,  he  made  the  best  of  this. 


122 


VERSES  WRITTEN-  A  T  SELKIRK. 


VERSES  WRITTEN  AT  SELKIRK, 

ADDRESSED  TO   MR.    CREECH,    I3TH   MAY,    1787. 


Auld  chuckie  Reekie's  sair  distrest, 
Down  droops  her  ance  wee!  burnish't 

crest, 
Nae  joy  her  bdnie  buskit  nest 

Can  yield  ava, 
Her  darling  bird  that  she  lo'es  best, 

Willie's  awa ! 

O  Willie  was  a  witty  wight, 
And  had  o'  things  an  unco  slight ; 
Auld  Reekie  ay  he  keepit  tight, 

An'  trig  an'  Draw  : 
But  now  they'll  busk  her  like  a  fright, 

Willie's  awa  ! 

The  stiffest  o*  them  a'  he  bow'd ; 
The  bauldest  o'  them  a'  he  cow'd  ; 
They  durst  nae  mair  than  he  allow' d, 

That  was  a  law  : 
We've  lost  a  birkie.  weel  worth  gowd, 

Willie's  awa ! 

Now   gawkies,  tawpies,    gowks,    and 

fools, 
Frae  colleges  and  boarding-schools, 
May  sprout  like  simmer  puddock-stools 

In  glen  or  shaw  ; 
He  wha  could  brush  them  down  to  mools, 

Willie's  awa ! 

The  brethren  o'  the  Commerce-Chaumer 
May  mourn  their  loss  wi'  doolfu'  clamour ; 
He  was  a  dictionar  and  grammar 

Amang  them  a* ; 
I  fear  they'll  now  mak  mony  a  stammer, 

Willie's  awa ! 

Nae  mair  we  see  his  levee  door 
Philosophers  and  Poets  pour, 
And  toothy  critics  by  the  score, 

In  bloody  raw, 
The  adjutant  o'  a'  the  core, 

Willie's  awa! 


Now  worthy  Gregory's  Latin  face, 
Tytler's  and  Greenfield's  modest  grace ; 
Mackenzie,  Stewart,  sic  a  brace 

As  Rome  ne'er  saw  ; 
They  a'  maun  meet  some  ither  place, 

Willie's  awa ! 

Poor  Burns  e'en  Scotch  drink  canna 

quicken, 
He  cheeps  like  some  bewilder'd  chicken 
Scar'd  frae  its  minnie  and  the  cleckin 

By  hoodie-craw ; 
Grief's  gien  his  heart  an  unco  kickin*, 

Willie's  awa! 

Now  ev'ry  sour-mou'd  grinnin'  blellum, 
And  Calvin's  folk,  are  fit  to  fell  him  ; 
And  self-conceited  critic  skellum 

His  quill  may  draw  ; 
He  wha  could  brawlie  ward  their  bellum, 

Willie's  awa! 

Up  wimpling  stately  Tweed  I've  sped, 
And  Eden  scenes  on  crystal  Jed, 
And  Ettrick  banks  now  roaring  red, 

While  tempests  blaw ; 
But  every  joy  and  pleasure  s  fled, 

Willie's  awa! 

May  I  be  Slander's  common  sf>eech  ; 
A  text  for  infamy  to  preach  ; 
And  lastly,  streekit  out  to  bleach 

In  winter  snaw  ; 
When  I  forget  thee,  Willie  Creech, 

Tho'  far  awa  1 

May  never  wicked  Fortune  touzle  him  ! 
May  never  wicked  men  bamboozle  him  ! 
Until  a  pow  as  auld's  Methusalem 

He  canty  claw ! 
Then  to  the  blessed,  New  Jerusalem 

Fleet  wing  awa ! 


A  GRACE  BEFORE  DINNER.  J23 


INSCRIPTION   ON   THE  TOMBSTONE 

ERECTED  BY   BURNS  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  FERGUSSON.    , 

*'  Here  lies  Robert  Fergusson,  Poet, 

Born  September  5th,  1751 — 

Died  J6th  October,  1774.'* 

No  sculptur'd  marble  here,  nor  pompous  lay, 
1  No  storied  urn  nor  animated  bust ; ' 

This  simple  stone  directs  pale  Scotia's  way 
To  pour  her  sorrows  o'er  her  Poet's  dust. 

She  mourns,  sweet  tuneful  youth,  thy  hapless  fate, 
Tho'  all  the  powers  of  song  thy  fancy  fir'd, 

Yet  Luxury  and  Wealth  lay  by  in  State, 

And  thankless  starv'd  what  they  so  much  admir'd. 

This  humble  tribute  with  a  tear  he  gives, 
A  brother  Bard,  he  can  no  more  bestow  : 

But  dear  to  fame  thy  Song  immortal  lives, 
A  nobler  monument  than  Art  can  show. 


A  GRACE   BEFORE  DINNER. 


O  thoi»,  who  kindly  dost  provide 
For  every  creature's  want  ! 

We  bless*  thee,  God  of  Nature  wide, 
For  all  thy  goodness  lent : 


And,  if  it  please  thee,  Heavenly  Guide, 

May  never  worse  be  sent ; 
But  whether  granted,  or  denied, 

Lord,  bless  us  with  content ! 

Amen ! 


A  VERSE 

COMPOSED  AND  REPEATED  BY   BURNS,  TO  THE  MASTER  OF  THE  HOUSE,   ON  TAKING   LEAVE 
AT  A  PLACE  IN  THE  HIGHLANDS,  WHERE  HE  HAD  BEEN  HOSPITABLY  ENTERTAINED. 


When  death's  dark  stream  I  ferry  o'er, 
A  time  that  surely  shall  come  ; 

In  Heaven  itself  I'll  ask  no  more, 
Than  just  a  Highland  welcome. 


LIBERTY. 

A   FRAGMENT. 

THEE,  Caledonia,  thy  wild  heaths  among, 
Thee,  famed  for  martial  deed  and  sacred  song, 

To  thee  I  turn  with  swimming  eyes  ; 
Where  is  that  soul  of  Freedom  fled  ? 
Immingled  with  the  mighty  dead  ! 

Beneath  the  hallow'd  turf  where  Wallace  lies ! 
Hear  it  not,  Wallace,  in  thy  bed  of  death  ! 

Ye  babbling  winds,  in  silence  sweep  ; 
^  Disturb  not  ye  the  hero's  sleep, 
Nor  give  the  coward  secret  breath. 


124 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ROBERT  RUISSEAUX. 


Is  this  the  power  in  Freedom's  war, 

That  wont  to  bid  the  battle  rage  ? 
Behold  that  eye  which  shot  immortal  hate, 

Crushing  the  despot's  proudest  bearing, 
That  arm  which,  nerved  with  thundering  fate, 

Brav'd  usurpation's  boldest  daring  ! 
One  quench'd  in  darkness  like  the  sinking  star, 
And  one  the  palsied  arm  of  tottering,  powerless  age. 

FRAGMENT  OF  AN   ODE 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  PRINCE  CHARLES  EDWARD  STUART. 

False  flatterer,  Hope,  away  \ 
Nor  think  to  lure  us  as  in  days  of  yore  ; 

We  solemnize  this  sorrowing  natal -day 
To  prove  our  loyal  truth  ;  we  can  no  more ; 

And  owning  Heaven's  mysterious  sway, 
Submissive  low  adore. 

Ye  honoured  mighty  dead  ! 
Who  nobly  perish'd  in  the  glorious  cause, 
Your  king,  your  country,  and  her  laws  ! 

From  great  Dundee  who  smiling  victory  led, 
And  fell  a  martyr  in  her  arms 
(What  breast  of  northern  ice  but  warms  ?) 

To  bold  Balmerino's  undying  name, 
Whose  soul  of  fire,  lighted  at  heaven's  high  flame, 
Deserves  the  proudest  wreath  departed  heroes  claim. 

Nor  unavenged  your  fate  shall  be, 

It  only  lags  the  fatal  hour ; 
Your  blood  shall  with  incessant  cry 

Awake  at  last  th'  unsparing  power  ;' 
As  from  the  cliff,  with  thundering  course, 

The  snowy  ruin  smokes  along, 
With  doubling  speed  and  gathering  force, 
Till  deep  it  crashing  whelms  the  cottage  in  the  vale  ! 
So  vengeance        ***** 


ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  O?  ROBERT  RUISSEAUX. 


Now  Robin  lies  in  his  last  lair, 

He'll  gabble  rhyme,  nor  sing  nae  mair, 

Cauld  poverty,  wi'  hungry  stare, 

Nae  mair  shall  fear  him  : 
Nor  anxious  fear,  nor  cankert  care, 

E'er  mair  come  near  him. 

To  tell  the  truth,  they  seldom  fash't  him, 
Except  the  moment  that  they  crush't 

him; 
For  sune  as  chance  or  fate  had  husht  'em, 


Tho'  e'er  sae  short> 
Then  wi'  a  rhyme  or  sang  he  lasht  Jem, 
And  thought  it  sport. 

Tho'  he  was  bred  to  kintra  wark, 
And  counted  was  baith  wight  and  stark, 
Yet  that  was  never  Robin's  mark 

To  mak  a  man  ; 
But  tell  him,  he  was  learn'd  and  dark. 

Ye  roos'd  him  thaD  » 


TO  y  LAPRAIK. 


125 


ANSWER  TO  VERSES  ADDRESSED  TO  THE  POET 

BY  THE  GUIDWIFE   OF   WAUCHOPE-HOUSE.      [1787.) 


GUIDVVIFE, 
I  Mind  it  weel,  in  early  date, 
When  I  was  beardless,  young  and  blate, 

An'  first  could  thresh  the  barn, 
Or  haud  a  yokin  at  the  pleugh, 
An'  tho'  forfoughten  sair  eneugh, 

Yet  unco  proud  to  learn  : 
When  first  amang  the  yellow  corn 

A  man  I  reckon'd  was, 
And  wi'  the  lave  ilk  merry  morn 
Could  rank  my  rig  and  lass, 
Still  shearing,  and  clearing 

The  tither  stooked  raw, 
Wi'  claivers,  an'  haivers, 
Wearing  the  day  awa  : 

Ev'n  then  a  wish,  (I  mind  its  power,) 
A  wish  that  to  my  latest  hour 

Shall  strongly  heave  my  breast ; 
That  I  for  poor  auld  Scotland's  sake. 
Some  usefu'  plan,  or  beuk  could  make, 

Or  sing  a  sang  at  least. 
The  rough  bur-thistle,  spreading  wide 

Amang  the  oearded  bear, 
I  turn'd  the  weeder-clips  aside, 
An'  spar'd  the  symbol  dear  : 
No  nation,  no  station, 

My  envy  e'er  could  rake  ; 
A  Scot  still,  but  blot  still, 
I  knew  nae  higher  praise. 

But  still  the  elements  o'  sang 

In  formless  jumble,  right  an'  wrang, 

Wild  floated  in  my  brain  , 
Till  on  that  har'st  I  said  before, 
My  partner  in  the  merry  core, 

She  rous'd  the  forming  strain  : 
1  see  her  yet,  the  sonsie  quean, 

That  lighted  up  my  jingle, 


Her  witching  smile,  her  pauky  een, 
That  gart  my  heart-strings  tingle ; 
I  fired,  inspired, 

At  ev'ry  kindling  keek, 
But  bashing,  and  dashing, 
I  feared  aye  to  speak. 

Health  to  the  sex,  ilk  guid  chiel  says, 
Wi'  merry  dance  in  winter  days, 
An'  we  to  share  in  common  : 
The  gust  o'  joy,  the  balm  of  woe, 
The  saul  o'  life,  the  heav'n  below, 

Is  rapture-giving  woman. 
Ye  surly  sumphs,  who  hate  the  name, 

Be  mindm'  o'  your  mither  : 
She,  honest  woman,  may  think  shame 
That  ye're  connected  with  her, 
Ye're  wae  men,  ye're  nae  men, 
That  slight  the  lovely  dears ; 
To  shame  ye,  disclaim  ye, 
Ilk  honest  birkie  swears. 


For  you,  no  bred  to  barn  or  byre, 
Wha  sweetly  tune  the  Scottish  lyre, 

Thanks  to  you  for  your  line  : 
The  marled  plaid  ye  kindly  spare, 
By  me  should  gratefully  be  ware ; 

'Twad  please  me  to  the  nine. 
I'd  be  more  vauntie  o'  my  hap, 

Douce  hingm'  owre  my  curple, 
Than  ony  ermine  ever  lap, 
Or  proud  imperial  purple. 
Farewell  then,  lang  heal  then,^ 

An'  plenty  be  your  fa' : 
May  losses  and  crosses 
Ne'er  at  your  hallan  caf, 

March,  1787. 


TO  J.   LAPRAIK. 

SEPT.  I3TH,  I785. 


Guid  speed  an*  furder  to  you,  Johny, 
Guid  health,  hale  han's,   and  weather 

bonie 
Now  when  ye're  nickan  down  fu'  cany 


The  staff  o'  bread, 
May  ye  ne'er  want  a  stoup  o'  bran'y 
To  clear  your  head. 


126 


THE  TWA  HERDS. 


May  Boreas  never  thresh  your  rigs, 
Nor  kick  your  rickles  aff  their  legs, 
6endin'  the  stuff  o'er  muirs  an*  hags 

Like  drivin'  wrack  ; 
But  may  the  tapmast  grain  that  wags 

Come  to  the  sack. 

I'm  bizzie  too,  an'  skelpin'  at  it, 

But  bitter,  daudin  showers  hae  wat  it, 

Sae  my  auld  stumpie  pen  I  gat  it 

WT  muckle  wark, 
An'  took  my  jocteleg  an'  whatt  it, 

Like  onie  clerk. 

It's  now  twa  month  that  I'm  your  debtor, 
For  your  braw,  nameless,  dateless  letter, 
Abusin'  me  for  harsh  ill-nature 

On  holy  men, 
While  Deil  a  hair  yoursel'  ye' re  better, 

But  rriair  profane. 

But  let  the  kirk-folk  ring  their  bells, 
Let's  sing  about  our  noble  sels ; 
We'll  cry  nae  jads  frae  heathen  hills 

To  help,  or  roose  us. 
But  browster  wives  an'  whisky  stills, 

They  are  the  Muses. 


Your  friendship,  Sir,  I  winna  quat  it, 
An'  if  ye  make  objections  at  it, 
Then    han'   in   nieve    some  day  we'll 
knot  it, 

An'  witness  take, 
An'  when  wi'  Usquebae  we've  wat  it 

It  winna  break. 

But  if  the  beast  and  branks  be  spar'd 
Till  kye  be  gaun  without  the  herd, 
An'  a'  the  vittel  in  the  yard, 

An'  theekit  right, 
I  mean  your  ingle-side  to  guard 

Ae  winter  night. 

Then  muse-inspirin'  aqua-vitae 

Shall  make  us  baith  sae  blithe  an'  witty 

Till  ye  forget  ye're  auld  an'  gatty, 

An'  be  as  canty 
As  ye  were  nine  years  less  than  thretty, 

Sweet  ane  an'  twenty  ! 

But  stooks  are  cowpet  wi'  the  blast, 
An'  now  the  sinn  keeks  in  the  west, 
Then  I  maun  rin  amang  the  rest 

An'  quit  my  chanter ; 
Sae  I  subscribe  mysel  in  haste, 

Yours,  Rab  the  Ranter. 


THE  TWA  HERDS.  [April  1785.] 

Blockheads  with  reason  wicked  wits  abhor, 
But  FoolvOith  Fool  is  barbarous  civil  war. 

Pope. 


O  a'  ye  pious  godly  flocks, 
Weel  fed  on  pastures  orthodox, 
Wha  now  will  keep  you  frae  the  fox, 

Or  worrying  tykes  ? 
Or  wha  will  tent  the  waifs  and  crocks, 

About  the  dykes  ? 


The  twa  best  herds  in  a'  the  wast, 
That  e'er  gae  gospel  horn  a  blast, 
These  five  and  twenty  summers  past, 

O  dool  to  tell ! 
Hae  had  a  bitter  black  out-cast, 

Atween  themsel. 


O,  Moodie,  man,  and  wordy  Russel, 
How  could  you  raise  so  vile  a  bustle, 
Ye'll    see    how  new-light    herds   will 
whistle, 

And  think  it  fine ! 
The  Lord's  cause  ne'er  gat  sic  a  twistle, 
Sin'  I  hae  min\ 

O,  Sirs,  whae'er  wad  hae  expeckit, 

Your  duty  ye  wad  sae  negleckit, 

Ye  wha  were  ne'er  by  lairds  respeckit, 

To  wear  the  plaid, 
But  by  the  brutes  themselves  eleckit 

To  be  their  guide. 


THE  TWA  HERDS. 


127 


What  flock  wi'  Moodie's  flock  could  rank, 
Sae  hale  and  hearty  every  shank, 
fcJae  poison'd  soor  Arminians  tank 

He  let  them  taste, 
Frae  Calvin's  well,  aye  clear,  they  drank : 

O'  sic  a  feast ! 

The  thummart  wil'-cat,  brock  and  tod, 
Weel  kend  his  voice  thro'  a'  the  wood, 
He  smell'd  their  ilka  hole  and  road, 

Baith  out  and  in, 
And  weel  he  lik'd  to  shed  their  bluid, 

And  sell  their  skin. 

What  herd  like  Russel  teli'd  his  tale, 
His  voice  was  heard  thro'  muir  and  dale, 
He  kend  the  Lord's  sheep,  ilka  tail, 

O'er  a'  the  height, 
And  saw  gin  they  were  sick  or  hale, 

At  the  first  sight. 

He  fine  a  mangy  sheep  could  scrub, 

Or  nobly  fling  the  gospel  club, 

And  new-light  herds  could  nicely  drub, 

Or  pay  their  skin, 
Could  shake  them  owre  the  burning  dub, 

Or  heave  them  in. 

Sic  twa — O !  do  I  live  to  see't, 
Sic  famous  twa  should  disagreet, 
An' names,  like  'villain,'  'hypocrite,' 

Ilk  ither  gi'en, 
While  new-light  herds  wi'  laughin'  spite, 

Say,  '  neither 's  liein'  ! 

A'  ye  wha  tent  the  gospel  fauld, 
There's    Duncan    deep,    and    Peebles 

shaul, 
But  chiefly  thou,  apostle  Auld, 
We  trust  in  thee, 
That  thou  wilt  work  them,  hot  and 
cauld, 

Till  they  agree. 

Consider,  Sirs,  how  we're  beset, 
There's  scarce  a  new  herd  that  we  get, 


But  comes  frae  'mang  that  cursed  set 

I  winna  name, 
I  hope  frae  heaven  to  see  them  yet 

In  fiery  flame. 

Dalrymple  has  been  lang  our  fae, 
M  'Gill  has  wrought  us  meikle  wae, 
And  that  curs'd  rascal  ca'd  M'Quhae, 

And  baith  the  Shaws, 
That  aft  hae  made  us  black  and  blae, 

Wi'  vengcfu'  paws. 

Auld  Wodrow  lang  has  hatch'd  mischief, 
We  thought  aye  death  wad  bring  reliefr 
But  he  has  gotten,  to  our  grief, 

Ane  to  succeed  him, 
A  chiel  wha'll  soundly  buff  our  beef; 

I  meikle  dread  him. 

And  monie  a  ane  that  I  could  tell, 
Wha  fain  would  openly  rebel, 
Forby  turn-coats  amang  oursel, 

There's  Smith  for  ane, 
I  doubt  he's  but  a  grey  nick  quill, 

And  that  ye'll  fin'. 

O  !  a'  ye  flocks,  owre  a'  the  hills, 

By  mosses,  meadows,  moors,  and  fells, 

Come  join  your  counsels  and  your  skills, 

To  cowe  the  lairds, 
And  get  the  brutes  the  power  themsels 

To  choose  their  herds. 

Then  Orthodoxy  yet  may  prance, 
And  Learning  in  a  woody  dance, 
And  that  fell  cur  ca'd  Common  Sense, 

That  bites  sae  sair, 
Be  banish'd  owre  the  seas  to  France ; 

Let  him  bark  there. 

Then  Shaw's  and  D'rymple's  eloquence, 
M 'Gill's  close  nervous  excellence, 
M'Quhae's  pathetic  manly  sense, 

And  guid  M'Math, 
Wi'  Smith,   wha  thro'  the  heart  can 
glance, 

May  a'  pack  aff. 


128  n  TO  THE  REV.  JOHN M'MATH. 


TO-THEHEV.  JOHN  M'MATH, 

ENCLOSING  A  COPY  OF  HOLY  WILLIES  PRAYER,  WHICH  HE  HAD  REQUESTED, 

Sept.  t7tht  1785. 
While  at  the  stook  the  shearers  cowr 
To  shun  the  bitter  blaudin*  show'r, 
Or  in  gulravage  rinnin  scour 

To  pass  the  time, 
To  you  I  dedicate  the  hour 

In  idle  rhyme. 

My  Musie,  tir'd  wi'  monie  a  sonnet 

On  gown,  an'  ban',  an'  douse  black  btmnet, 

Is  grown  right  eerie  now  she's  done  it, 

Lest  they  shou'd  blame  her, 
An'  rouse  their  holy  thunder  on  it, 

And  anathem  her. 

I  own  'twas  rash,  and  rather  hardy, 
That  I,  a  simple  countra  bardie, 
Shou'd  meddle  wi'  a  pack  so  sturdy, 

Wha,  if  they  ken  me, 
Can  easy,  wi'  a  single  wordie, 

Lowse  hell  upon  me. 

But  I  gae  mad  at  their  grimaces, 

Their  sighin',  cantin',  grace-proud  faces, 

Their  thr.ee-mile  prayers,  and  hauf-mile  graces, 

Their  raxin'  conscience, 
Whase  greed,  revenge,  an'  pride  disgraces 

Waur  nor  their  nonsense. 

There's  Gaun,  misca't  waur  than  a  beast, 
Wha  has  mair  honour  in  his  breast 
Than  monie  scores  as  guid's  the  priest 

Wha  sae  abus'd  him ; 
An*  may  a  bard  no  crack  his  jest 

What  way  they've  us'd  him? 

See  him,  the  poor  man's  friend  in  need, 
The  gentleman  in  word  an'  deed, 
An'  shall  his  fame  an'  honour  bleed 

By  worthless  skellums, 
An*  no  a  Muse  erect  her  head 

To  cowe  the  blelluras  ? 


TO  THE  REV.  JOHN  M'MATff.  T29 


O  Pope,  had  I  thy  satire's  darts 
To  gie  the  rascals  their  deserts, 
Td  rip  their  rotten,  hollow  hearts, 

An*  Jell  aloud 
Their  jugglin'  hocus-pocus  arts 

To  cheat  the  crowd. 

God  knows,  I'm  no  the  thing  I  shou'd  be, 
Nor  am  I  even  the  thing  I  could  be, 
But,  twenty  times,  I  rather  would  be 

An  atheist  clean, 
Than  under  gospel  colours  hid  be, 

Just  for  a  screen. 

An  honest  man  may  like  a  glass, 
An  honest  man  may  like  a  lass, 
But  mean  revenge,  an'  malice  fause, 

He'll  still  disdain, 
An'  then  cry  zeal  for  gospel. laws, 

Like  some  we  ken. 

They  tak  religion  in  their  mouth  ; 
They  talk  o'  mercy,  grace,  an'  truth, 
For  what  ?  to  gie  their  malice  skouth 

On  some  puir  wight, 
An'  hunt  him  down,  o'er  right  an'  ruth,. 

To  ruin  straight. 


All  hail,  Religion !  maid  divine ! 
Pardon  a  muse  sae  mean  as  mine, 
Who  in  her  rough  imperfect  line 

Thus  daurs  to  name  thee ; 
To  stigmatize  false  friends  of  thine 

Can  ne'er  defame  thee. 


Tho'  blotcht  an'  foul  wi'  monie  a  stain, 

An'  far  unworthy  of  thy  train, 

Wi'  trembling  voice  I  tune  my  strain 

To  join  wi'  those, 
Who  boldly  daur  thy  cause  maintain 

In  spite  o'  foes : 


In  spite  o'  crowds,  in  spite  o*  mobs, 
In  spite  of  undermining  jobs, 
In  spite  o'  dark  banditti  stabs 

At  worth  an'  merit, 
By  scoundrels,  even  wi'  holy  robes, 

But  hellish  spirit. 


130 


HOLY  WILLIE'S  PRAYER. 


G  Ayr  !  my  dear,  ,my  native  ground  ! 
Within  thy  presbyterial  bound, 
A  candid  lib'ral  band  is  found 

Of  public  teachers, 
As  men,  as  Christians  too,  renowri'd, 

An'  manly  preachers. 

Sir,  in  that  circle  you  are  nam'd ; 
Sir,  in  that  circle  you  are  fam'd  ; 
An*  some,  by  whom  your  doctrine's  blam'd, 

(Which  gies  you  honour, ) 
Even,  Sir,  by  them  your  heart 's  esteem'd, 

An'  winning  manner. 

Pardon  this  freedom  I  have  ta'en, 
An'  if  impertinent  I've  been, 
Impute  it  not,  good -Sir,  in  ane 

Whase  heart  ne'er  wrang'd  ye, 
But  to  his  utmost  would  befriend 

Ought  that  belang'd  ye. 


HOLY  WILLIE'S   PRAYER, 


0  Thou,   wha  in  the   Heavens  dost 

dwell, 
Wha,  as  it  pleases  best  thyseP, 
Sends  ane  to  heaven  and  ten  to  hell, 

A'  for  thy  glory, 
And  no  for  onie  guid  or  ill 

They've  done  afore  thee ! 

1  bless  and  praise  thy  matchless  might, 
Whan  thousands  thou  hast  left  in  night, 
That  I  am  here  afore  thy  sight, 

For  gifts  an*  grace, 
A  burnin  an'  a  shinin  light, 

To  a'  this  place. 

What  was  I,  or  my  generation, 
That  I  should  get  sic  exaltation? 
I,  wha  deserve  sic  just  damnation, 

For  broken  laws, 
Five  thousand  years  'fore  my  creation, 

Thro'  Adam's  cause. 

When  frae  my  mither's  womb  I  fell, 
Thou  might  nae  plunged  me  in  hell, 
To  gnash  my  gums,  to  weep  and  wail, 

In  burnin'  lake, 
Where  damned  devils  roar  nnd  yell, 

Chain'd  to  a  stake* 


Yet  I  am  here  a  chosen  sample, 

To  show  thy  grace  is  great  and  ample  ; 

I'm  here  a  pillar  in  thy  temple, 

Strong  as  a  rock, 
A  guide,  a  buckler,  an  example 

To  a'  thy  flock. 

O  Lord,  thou  kens  what  zeal  I  bear, 
When    drinkers   drink,    and    swearers 

swear, 
And  singin  there  and  dancin  here, 

Wi'  great  an'  sma' : 
For  I  am  keepit  by  thy  fear, 

Free  frae  them  a'. 

But  yet,  O  Lord  !  confess  I  must, 
At  times  I'm  fash'd  wi'  fleshly  lust, 
An'  sometimes  too,  wi'  warldly  trust, 

Vile  self  gets  in  ; 
But  thou  remembers  we  are  dust, 

DehTd  in  sin. 

O  Lord  !  yestreen,  thou  kens,  wi'  Meg — 

Thy  pardon  I  sincerely  beg, 

O  !  may  it  ne'er  be  a  livin  plague 

To  my  dishonour, 
An'  I'll  ne'er  lift  a  lawless  leg 

Again  upon  her. 


EPITAPH  ON  HOLY  WILLIE. 


«3» 


Besides  I  farther  maun  allow, 

Wi'  Lizzie's  lass,  three  times  I  trow ; 

But  Lord,  that  Friday  I  was  fou, 

When  I  came  near  her, 
Or  else  thou  kens  thy  servant  true 

Wad  ne'er  hae  steer'dher. 

May  be  thou  lets  this  fleshly  thorn 

Beset  thy  servant  e'en  and  morn, 

Lest  he  owre  high  and  proud  should  turn, 

Cause  he's  sae  gifted ; 
If  sae,  thy  hand  maun  e'en  be  borne, 

Until  thou  lift  it 

Lord,  bless  thy  chosen  in  this  place, 
For  here  thou  hast  a  chosen  race  ; 
But  God  confound  their  stubborn  face, 

And  blast  their  name, 
Wha  bring  thy  elders  to  disgrace, 

An*  public  shame. 

Lord,  mind  Gawn  Hamilton's  deserts, 
He  drinks,  an*  swears,  an'  plays  at  cartes, 
Yet  has  sae  monie  takin  arts, 

Wi'  grit  an'  sma', 
Frae  God's  ain  priest  the  people's  hearts 

He  steals  awa'. 

An*  whan  we  chasten'd  him  therefore, 
Thou  kens  how  he  bred  sic  a  splore, 
As  set  the  warld  in  a  foar 


O'  laughin  at  us  ; 
Curse  thou  his  basket  and  his  store, 
Kail  and  potatoes. 

Lord,  hear  my  earnest  cry  an'  pray'r, 
Against  that  presbyt'ry  o'  Ayr ; 
Thy  strong  right  band,  Lord,  make  it 
bare, 

Upo'  their  heads ; 
Lord,  weigh  it  down,  and  dinna  spare, 

For  their  misdeeds. 

O  Lord  my  God,  that  glib-tongu'd  Aiken, 
My  very  heart  and  soul  are  quakin, 
To  think  how  we  stood  sweatin,  shakin, 

An'  p — d  wi'  dread, 
While  he,  wi'  hingin  lips  an'  snakin, 

Held  up  his  head. 

Lord,  in  the  day  of  vengeance  try  him ; 
Lord,  visit  them  wha  did  employ  him, 
And  pass  not  in  thy  mercy  by  'em, 

Nor  hear  their  pray'r  : 
But,  for  thy  people's  sake,  destroy  'em, 

And  dinna  spare 

But,  Lord,  remember  me  and  mine 
Wi'  mercies  temp'ral  and  divine, 
That  I  for  gear  and  grace  may  shine, 

Excell'd  by  nane* 
An'  a'  the  glory  shall  be  thine, 

Amen,  Amen, 


EPITAPH   ON   HOLY  WILLIE. 


Here  Holy  Willie's  sair  worn  clay 

Taks  up  its  last  abode  ; 
His  saul  has  taen  some  other  way, 

I  fear  the  left-hand  road. 

Stop  !  there  he  is,  as  sure's  a  gun, 
Poor  silly  body,  see  him ; 

Nae  wonder  he's  as  black's  the  grun, 
Observe  wha's  standing  wi'  him. 

Your  brunstane  devilship,  I  see, 
Has  got  him  there  before  ye ; 


But  haud  your  nine-tail  cat  a-we«, 
Till  ance  you've  heard  my  story. 

Your  pity  I  will  not  implore. 

For  pity  ye  have  nane ; 
Justice,  alas  !  has  gien  him  o'er, 

And  mercy's  day  is  gane. 

But  hear  me,  Sir,  deil  as  ye  are, 
Look  something  to  your  credit ; 

A  coof  like  him  wad  stain  your  name, 
If  it  were  kent  ye  did  it. 

It 


*3* 


TO  GAVIN  HAMILTON,  ESQ. 


ON  SCARING  SOME  WATER  FOWL 

IN   LOCH-TURIT,   A  WILD  SCENE  AMONG   THE   HILLS  OF  OCHTERTYRE. 


"Why,  ye  tenants  of  the  lake, 
For  me  your  wat'ry  haunt  forsake  ? 
Tell  me,  fellow-creatures,  why 
At  my  presence  thus  you  fly  ? 
Why  disturb  your  social  joys, 
Parent,  filial,  kindred  ties  ? — 
Common  friend  to  you  and  me, 
Nature's  gifts  to  all  are  free  : 
Peaceful  keep  your  dimpling  wave, 
Busy  feed,  or  wanton  lave  ; 
Or,  beneath  the  sheltering  rock, 
Bide  the  surging  billow's  shock. 

Conscious,  blushing  for  our  race, 
Soon,  too  soon,  your  fears  I  trace. 
Man,  your  proud,  usurping  foe^ 
Would  be  lord  of  all  below  ; 
Plumes  himself  in  Freedom's  pride, 
Tyrant  stern  to  all  beside. 

The  eagle,  from  the  cliffy  brow, 
Marking  you  his  prey  below, 


In  his  breast  no  pity  dwells, 
Strong  Necessity  compels. 
But  Man,  to  whom  alone  is  giv'n 
A  ray  direct  from  pitying  Heav'n, 
Glories  in  his  heart  humane — 
And  creatures  for  his  pleasure  slain. 

In  these  savage,  liquid  plains, 
Only  known  to  wand'ring  swains, 
Where  the  mossy  riv'let  strays, 
Far  from  human  haunts  and  ways ; 
All  on  Nature  you  depend, 
And  life's  poor  season  peaceful  spend. 

Or,  if  man's  superior  might 
Dare  invade  your  native  right, 
On  the  lofty  ether  borne, 
Man  with  all  his  pow'rs  you  scorn  ; 
Swiftly  seek,  on  clanging  wings, 
Other  lakes  and  other  springs  ; 
And  the  foe  you  cannot  brave,  . 
Scorn  at  least  to  be  his  slave. 


TO  GAVIN  HAMILTON,  ESQ.  MAUCHLINE, 


RECOMMENDING  A   BOY. 


I  HOLD  it,  Sir,  my  bounden  duty, 
To  warn  you  how  that  Master  Tootie, 

Alias  Laird  M'Gaun, 
Was  here  to  lure  the  lad  away 
'Bout  whom  ye  spak  the  tither  day, 
An'  wad  hae  don't  aff  han'  : 
But  lest  he  learn  the  callan  tricks, 
As  faith  I  muckle  doubt  him, 
Like  scrapin'  out  auld  Crummie's  nicks, 
An'  tellin'  lies  about  them  ; 
As  lieve  then  I'd  have  then, 

Your  clerkship  he  should  sair, 
If  sae  be,  ye  may  be 
Not  fitted  otherwhere. 

Altho'  I  say't,  he's  gleg  enough, 

An*  'bout  a  house  that's  rude  an'  rough, 

The  boy  might  learn  to  swear; 
But  then  wi'  you,  he'll  be  sae  taught, 
An'  get  sic  fair  example  straught, 

I  hae  na  onie  fear. 
Ye'll  catechize  him  every  quirk, 


Mosgaville,  May  3,  1786. 

An'  shore  him  weel  wi'  hell ; 

An'  gar  him  follow  to  the  kirk 

— Ay  when  ye  gang  yoursel. 
If  ye  then,  maun  be  then 

Frae  hame  this  comin'  Friday, 
Then  please,  Sir,  to  lea'e,  Sir, 
The  orders  wi'  your  lady. 

My  word  of  honour  I  ha'e  gi'en, 
In  Paisley  John's,  that  night  at  e'en, 
To  meet  the  Warld's  worm  : 
To  try  to  get  the  twa  to  gree, 
An'  name  the  airles  an'  the  fee, 
In  legal  mode  an'  form  : 
I  ken  he  weel  a  snick  can  draw,     k    \ 

When  simple  bodies  let  him  ; 
An'  if  a  Devil  bea^fc"' 

In  faithj^fl^flre  to  get  him. 
To  phraseyou  an'  praise  you, 

Ye  ken  your  Laureat  scorns  : 
The  pray'r  still,  you  share  still, 
Of  grateful  Minstrel        Burns, 


TO  CAPTAIN  RIDDEL. 


'33 


EPISTLE  TO  MR.  M'ADAM, 

OP  CRAIGEN-GILLAN,   IN  ANSWER  TO  AN  OBLIGING  LETTER  HE  SENT  IN  THE 
COMMENCEMENT  OF  MY  POBTfC  CAREER. 


SIR,  o'er  a  gill  I  gat  your  card* 
I  trow  it  made,  me  proud ; 

*  See  wha  tales  notice  o'  the  Bard  \  * 
I  lap  and  cry'd  fu*  loud. 

4  Now  deil-ma-care  about  their  jaw, 
The  senseless,  gawky  million ; 

I'll  cock  my  nose  aboon  them  a\ 
I'm  roos'd  by  Oaigen-Gillan  1  * 

•Twas  noble,  Sir ;  *twas  like  yoursel, 
To  grant  your  high  protection  : 

A  great  man's  smile,  ye  ken  fu'  weel, 
Is  aye  a  blest  infection. 

Tho',  by  his  banes  wha  in  a  tub 
Match'd  Macedonian  Sandy  1 


On  my  ain  legs,  thro'  dirt  and  dub, 
I  independent  stand  ay.-*- 

And  when  those  legs  to  gude,  warm  kail, 
WV  welcome  canna  bear  me  ; 

A  lee  dyke-side,  a  sybow-tail, 
And  barley-scone  shall  cheer  me. 

Heaven  spare  you  lang  to  kiss  the  breath 

O'  monie  flow'ry  simmers  ! 
And  l^^your  bonie  lasses. baith, 

1'ifli  ■they're  loosome  kimmers ! 


I  ^^S  y 

1001 


And  (jq&less  young  Dunaskm's  laird, 
The  blossom  of  our  gentry  I 

And  may  he  wear  an  auld  man's  beard, 
A  credit  to  his  country. 


TO  CAPTAIN  RIDDEL,  GLENRIDDEL. 

EXTEMPORE  LINES  ON  RETURNING  A  NEWSPAPER. 

Ellisland,  Monday  Evening. 

Your  News  and  Review,  Sir,  I've  read  through  and  through,  Sir, 

With  little  admiring  or  blaming  ; 
The  papers  are  barren  of  home-news  or  foreign, 

No  murders  or  rapes  worth  the  naming. 

Our  friends  the  Reviewers,  those  chippers  and  hewers 

Are  judges  of  mortar  and  stone,  Sir ; 
But  of  meet,  or  unmeet,  in  a  fabrick  complete, 

I'll  boldly  pronounce  they  are  none,  Sir. 

My  goose-quill  too  rude  is 'to  tell  all  your  goodness 

JBestow'd  on  your  servant,  the  Poet ; 
Would  to  God  I  had  one  like  a  beam  of  the  sun, 

And  then  all  the  world,  Sir,  should  know  it ! 


134 


TO  A  LADY. 


VERSES 


INTENDED  TO  BE  WRITTEN  BELOW  A  NOBI.E  EARI/S  PICTURE. 


Whose  is  that  noble,  dauntless  brow? 

And  whose  that  eye  of  fire  ? 
And  whose  that  generous  princely  mien 

Even  rooted  foes  admire  X 

Stranger,  to  justly  shew  that  brow, 

And  mark  that  eye  of  fire, 
Would  take  His  hand,  whose  vernal 
tints 

His  other  works  admire. 


Bright  as  a  cloudless  summer  sun, 
With  stately  port  he  moves  ; 

His  guardian  seraph  eyes  with  awe 
The  noble  ward  he  loves. 


Among  the  illustrious  Scottish  sons 
That  chief  thou  may'st  discern ; 

Mark  Scotia's  fond  returning  eye., 
It  dwells  upon  Glencairn. 


TO  TERRA 


§ 


Y,  ON -HIS  BIRTHDAY. 


HEALTH  to  the  Maxwells*  vet'ran  Chief! 
Health,  aye  unsour'd  by  care  or  grief : 
Inspir'd,  I  turn'd  Fate's  sibyl  leaf 

This  natal  morn, 
I  see  thy  life  is  stuff  o'  prief, 

*  Scarce  quite  half  worn. 

This  day  thou  metes  threescore  eleven, 
And  I  can  tell  that  bounteous  Heaven 
The  second-sight,  ye  ken,  is  given 

To  ilka  Poet) 
On  thee  a  tack  o*  seven  times  seven 

Will  yet  bestow  it. 

If  envious  buckies  view  wi  sorrow 
Thy  lengthen'd  days  on  this  blest  morrow, 
May  desolation's  lang-teeth'd  harrow, 


Nine  miles  an  hour, 
Rake  them,  like  Sodom  and  Gomorrah, 
In  brunstane  stoure— 

But  for  thy  friends,  and  they  are  monie, 
Baith  honest  men  and  lassies  bonie, 
May  couthie  fortune,  kind  and  cannie, 

In  social  glee, 
Wi1  mornings  blithe  and  e'enings  funny 

Bless  them  and  thee  1 

Fareweel,  auld  birkie  !  Lord  be  near  ye, 
And  then  the  Deil  he  daurna  steer  ye  : 
Your  friends  aye  love,  your  faes  aye 
fear  ye ; 

For  me,  shame,  fa*  me, 
If  neist  my  heart  I  dinna  wear  ye 

While  Bu  rns  they  ca'  me. 


TO  A  LADY, 

WITH  A  PRESENT  OF  A  PAIR  OF  DRINKING  CLASSES. 


Fair  Empress  of  the  Poet's  soul, 

And  Queen  of  Poetesses ; 
Clarinda,  take  this  little  boon, 

This  humble  pair  of  glasses. 

And  fill  them  high  with  generous  juice, 
As  generous  as  your  mind  ; 


And  pledge  me  in  the  generous  toast— 
4  The  whole  of  human  kind  I ■ 

*  To  those  who  love  us  ! ' — second  fill ; 

But  not  to  those  whom  we  love ; 
Lest  we  love  those  who  love  not  us  ! 

A  third—'  to  thee  and  me,  Love  I  * 


SKETCH.  135 

THE  VOWELS. 

A   TALE. 

*Twas  where  the  birch  and  sounding  thong  are  ply'd, 

The  noisy  domicile  of  pedant  pride  ; 

Where  ignorance  her  darkening  vapour  throws, 

And  cruelty  directs  the  thickening  blows  \ 

Upon  a  time,  Sir  Abece  the  great, 

In  all  his  pedagogic  powers  elate, 

His  awful  chair  of  state  resolves  to  mount, 

And  call  the  trembling  Vowels  to  account 

First  enter'd  A,  a  grave,  broad,  solemn  wight, 
But  ah  !  deform' d,  dishonest  to  the  sight ! 
His  twisted  head  look'd  backward  on  his  way, 
And  flagrant  from  the  scourge,  he  grunted,  ail 

Reluctant,  E  stalk'd  in  ;  with  pit^^s  race 
The  jostling  tears  ran  down  his  ho^Bpace  ! 
That  name,  that  well-worn  name,  1  Ell  his  own. 
Pale  he  surrenders  at  the  tyrant's  thjBR ! 
The  pedant  stifles  keen  the  Roman  sound 
Not  all  his  mongrel  diphthongs  can  compound  ; 
And  next,  the  title,  following  close  behind, 
He  to  the  nameless,  ghastly  wretch  assign'd. 

The  cobweb'd  gothic  dome  resounded,  Y  ! 
In  sullen  vengeance,  I,  disdain'd  reply  : 
The  pedant  swung  his  felon  cudgel  round, 
And  knock'd  the  groaning  vowel  to  the  ground  ! 

In  rueful  apprehension  enter'd  O, 
The  wailing  minstrel  of  despairing  woe  ; 
Th'  Inquisitor  of  Spain  the  most  expert, 
Might  there  have  learnt  new  mysteries  of  his  art : 
So  grim,  deform'd,  with  horrors  entering  U, 
His  dearest  friend  and  brother  scarcely  knew ! 

As  trembling  U  stood  staring  all  aghast, 
The  pedant  in  his  left  han4  clutch'd  him  fast, 
In  helpless  infants'  tears  he  dipp'd  his  right, 
Baptiz'd  him  ex,  and  kick'd  him  from  his  sight. 


SKETCH. 

A  LITTLE,  upright,  pert,  tart,  tripping  wight, 
And  still  his  precious  self  his  dear  delight ; 
Who  loves  his  own  smart  shadow  in  the  street? 
Better  than  e'er  the  fairest  she  he  meets  : 
A  man  of  fashion  too,  he  made  his  tour, 
Learn'd  vive  la  bagatelle,  et  vive  l'amour ; 
So  traveled  monkeys  their  grimace  improve, 
Polish  their  grin,  nay,  sigh  for  ladies'  love. 


136  PROLOGUE. 


Much  specious  lore,  but  little  understood ; 
Veneering  oft  outshines  the  solid  wood  ; 
His  solid  sense — by  inches  you  must  tell, 
But  mete  his  cunning  by  the  old  Scots  ell ; 
His  meddling  vanity,  a  busy  fiend, 
Still  making  work  his  selfish  craft  must  mend. 


PROLOGUE 

roR  Ma  Sutherland's  benefit-nicht,  Dumfries.    [1790] 

What  needs  this  din  about  the  town  o'  Lon'on, 
How  this  new  play  an'  that  new  sang  is  comin'  ? 
Why  is  outlandish  stuff  sae  meikle  courted  ? 
Does  nonsense  mend  like  whisky,  when  imported  ? 
Is  there  nae  poet,  burning  keen  for  fame, 
Will  try  to.gie  us^ngs  and  plays  at  hame.? 
For  comedy  abr^^fcie  need  na  toil, 
A  fool  and  knav^H  plants  of  every  soil ; 
Nor  need  he  hulPi  far  as  Rome  and  Greece 
To  gather  matter  for  a  serious  piece  ; 
There's  themes  enow  in  Caledonian  story, 
Would  show  the  tragic  muse  in  a'  her  glory. 
Is  there  no  daring  Bard  will  rise,  and  tell 
How  glorious  Wallace  stood,  how  hapless  fell? 
Where  are  the  Muses  fled  that  could  produce 
A  drama  worthy  o'  the  name  o'  Bruce ; 
How  here,  even  here,  he  first  unsheath'd  the  sword 
'Gainst  mighty  England  and  her  guilty  lord  ; 
And  after  monie  a  bloody,  deathless  doing, 
Wrench'd  his  dear  country  from  the  jaws  of  ruin  % 
O  for  a  Shakespeare  or  an  Otway  scene, 
To  draw  the  lovely,  hapless  Scottish  Queen  ! 
Vain  all  th'  omnipotence  of  female  charms 
'Gainst  headlong,  ruthless,  mad  Rebellion's  arms. 
She  fell,  but  fell  with  spirit  truly  Roman, 
To  glut  the  vengeance  of  a  rival  woman  ; 
A  woman,  tho'  the  phrase  may  seem  uncivil, 
As  able  and  as  cruel  as  the  devil ! 
One  Douglas  lives  in  Home's  immortal  page, 
But  Douglases  were  heroes  every  age  : 
And  tho'  your  fathers,  prodigal  of  life, 
A  Douglas  follow'd  to  the  martial  strife, 
Perhaps,  if  bowls  row  right,  and  Right  succeeds, 
Ye  yet  may  follow  where  a  Douglas  leads  ! 
As  ye  hae  generous  done,  if  a'  the  land 
Would  tak  the  Muses'  servants  by  the  hand ; 
Not  only  hear,  but  patronize,  befriend  them, 
And  where  ye  justly  can  commend,  commend  them ; 
And  aiblins  when  they  winna  stand  the  test, 
Wink  hard  and  say,  the  folks  hae  done  their  beat  X 


ELEGY  Otf  THE  YEAR  1788. 


«37 


Would  a*  the  land  do  this,  then  I'll  be  caution 
Ye'U  soon  hae  poets  o'  the  Scottish  nation, 
Will  gar  Fame  blaw  until  her  trumpet  crack, 
And  warsle  time  an'  lay  him  on  his  back  1 

For  us  and  for  our  stage  should  onie  spier, 
'  Whase  aught  thae  chiels  maks  a'  this  bustle  here  ? 
My  best  leg  foremost,  I'll  set  up  my  brow, 
We  hae  the  honour  to  belong  to  you  ! 
We're  your  ain  bairns,  e'en  guide  us  as  ye  like, 
But  like  good  mithers,  shore  before  ye  strike— 
And  gi'atefu'  still.I  hope  yell  ever  find  us, 
For  a'  the  patronage  and  meikle  kindness 
We've  got  frae  a'  professions,  sets  and  ranks : 
God  help  us  !  we're  but  poor— ye'se  get  but  thanks. 


ELEGY  ON  THE  YEAR  1788, 

SKETCH 


For  Lords  or  Kings  I  dinna  mourn, 
E'en  let  them  die—  for  that  they're  born : 
But  oh  !  prodigious  to  reflec' ! 
A  Towmont,  Sirs,  is  gane  to  wreck  ! 
O  Eighty-eight,  in  thy  sma'  space 
What  dire  events  hae  taken  place  J 
Of  what  enjoyments  thou  hast  reft  us  ! 
In  what  a  pickle  thou  hast  left  us  ! 

The  Spanish  empire's  tint  a  head, 
And  my  auld  teethless  Bawtie  's  dead  ! 
The  tulzie's  sair  'tween  Pitt  an'  Fox, 
An*  our  gudewife's  wee  birdy  cocks  ; 
The  tane  is  game,  a  bludie  devil, 
But  to  the  hen-birds  unco  civil ; 
The  tither's  Something  dour  6'  treadin, 
But  better  stuff  ne'er  claw'd  a  midden. 

Ye  ministers*  come  mount  the  poupit, 
An*  cry  till'  ye  be  haerse  an'  roupet, 
For  Eighty-eight  he  wish'd  you  weel, 
And  gied  you  a'  baith  gear  an'  meal ; 


E'en  monie  a  plack,  and  monie  a  peck, 
Ye  ken  yoursels,  for  little  feck. 

Ye  bonie  lasses,  dight  your  een, 
For  some  o'  you  hae  tint  a  frien' ; 
In  Eighty-eight,  ye  ken,  was  ta'en 
What  ye  11  ne'er  hae  to  gie  again. 

Observe  the  very  nowt  an'  sheep, 
How  dowf  and  daviely  they  creep ; 
Nay,  even  the  yirth  itsel  does  cry, 
For  E'mbrugh  wells  are  grutten  dry. 

O  Eighty-nine,  thou's  but  a  bairn, 
An'  no  owre  auld,  I  hope,  to  learn  ! 
Thou  beardless  boy,  I  pray  tak  care, 
Thou  now  has  got  thy  daddie's  chair, 
Nae  hand-cuff'd,  mizzl'd,  hap-shackl'd 

Regent, 
But,  like  himsel,  a  full  free  agent. 
Be  sure  ye  follow  out-the  plan 
Nae  waur  than  he  did,  honest  man  : 
As  muckle  better  as  you  can. 
January  i,  1789. 


VERSES  WRITTEN  UNDER  THE  PORTRAIT  OF  FERGUSSON 

THE  POET, 

IN  A  COPY  OF  THAT  AUTHOR'S  WORKS 
PRESENTED  TO  A  YOUNG  LADY   IN   EDINBURGH,    MARCH   igTH,   1787. 

Curse  on  ungrateful  man,  that  can  be  pleas'd, 
And  yet  can  starve  the  author  of  the  pleasure  J 
O  thou,  my  elder  brother  in  misfortune, 
By  far  my  elder  brother  in  the  Muses, 
With  tears  I  pity  thy  unhappy  fate  1 
Why  is  the  Bard  unpitied  by  the  world, 
Yet  has  so  keen  a  relish  of  its  pleasures  ? 


«3* 


DELTA. 


LAMENT   (see  Note), 

WRITTEN  AT  A  TIME  WHEN  THE  POET  WAS  ABOUT  TO  LEAVE  SCOTLAND. 

O'ER  the  mist-shrouded  cliffs  of  the  lone  mountain  straying, 
Where  the  wild  winds  of  winter  incessantly  rave, 

What  woes  wring  my  heart  while  intently  surveying 
The  storm's  gloomy  path  on  the  breast  of  the  wave. 

Ye  foam-crested  billows,  allow  me  to  wail, 

Ere  ye  toss  me  afar  from  my  lov'd  native  shore  ; 

Where  the  flower  which  bloom' d  sweetest  in  Coila's  green  vale, 
The  pride  of  my  bosom,  my  Mary's  no  more. 

No  more  by  the  banks  of  the  streamlet  we'll  wander, 
And  smile  at  the  moon's  rimpled  face  in  the  wave  ; 

No  more  shall  my  arms  cling  with  fondness  around  her, 
For  the  dew-drops  of  morning  fall  cold  on  her  grave. 

No  more  shall  the  soft  thrill  of  love  warm  my  breast, 

I  haste  with  the  storm  to  a  far  distant  shore; 
Where  unknown,  unlamented,  my  ashes  shall  rest, 

And  joy  shall  revisit  my  bosom  no  more. 


DELIA. 


AN  ODE. 


Fair  the  face  of  orient  day, 
Fair  the  tints  of  op'ning  rose ; 
But  fairer  still  my  Delia  dawns, 
More  lovely  far  her  beauty  blows. 

Sweet  the  lark's  wild-warbled  lay, 
Sweet  the  tinkling  rill  to  hear ; 
But,  Delia,  more  delightful  still 
Steal  thine  accents  on  mine  ear. 


The  flower-enamour'd  busy  bee 
The  rosy  banquet  loves  to  sip  ; 
Sweet  the  streamlet's  limpid  lapse 
To  the  sun-brown' d  Arab's  lip ; 

But,  Delia,  on  thy  balmy  lips 
Let  me,  no  vagrant  insect,  rove  ! 
O  let  me  steal  one  liquid  kiss  ! 
For  oh !  my  soul  is  parch'd  with  love ! 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  SIR' JAMES  HUNTER  BLAIR. 

THE  lamp  of  day,  with  ill -presaging  glare, 
Dim,  cloudy,  sunk  beneath  the  western  wave  ; 

Th'  inconstant  blast  howl'd  thro'  the  dark'ning  air, 
And  hollow  whistl'd  in  the  rocky  cave. 

Lone  as  I  wander'd  by  each  cliff  and  dell, 
Once  the  lov'd  haunts  of  Scotia's  royal  train  ; 

Or  mus'd  where  limpid  streams,  once  hallow 'd  well, 
Or  mould'ring  ruins  mark  the  sacred  fane. 


SIR  JAMES  HUNTER  BLAIR.  139 

Th'  increasing  blast  roar'd  round  the  beetling  rocks, 

The  clouds  swift-wing'd  flew  o'er  the  starry  sky, 
The  groaning  trees  untimely  shed  their  locks, 

And  shooting  meteors  caught  the  startled  eye. 

The  paly  moon  rose  in  the  livid  east, 

And  'mong  the  cliffs  disclos'd  a  stately  Form. 
In  weeds  of  woe  that  frantic  beat  her  breast, 

And  mix'd  her  wailings  with  the  raving  storm. 

Wild  to  my  heart  the  filial  pulses  glow, 

'Twas  Caledonia's  trophied  shield  I  view'd : 
Her  form  majestic  droop' d  in  pensive  woe, 

The  lightning  of  her  eye  in  tears  imbued. 

Revers'd  that  spear,  redoubtable  in  war, 

Reclin'd  that  banner,  erst  in  fields  unfurl'd, 
That  like  a  deathful  meteor  gleam'd  afar, 

And  brav'd  the  mighty  monarchs  of  the  world.-*- 

■  My  patriot  son  fills  an  untimely  grave !' 
With  accents  wild  and  lifted  arms  she  cried  ; 

*  Low  lies  the  hand  that  oft  was  stretch'd  to  save, 

Low  lies  the  heart  that  swell'd  with  honest  pride ! 

*  A  weeping  country  joins  a  widow's  tear, 

The  helpless  poor  mix  with  the  orphan's  cry ; 
The  drooping  arts  surround  their  patron's  bier, 
And  grateful  science  heaves  the  heartfelt  sigh.— 

'  I  saw  my  sons  resume  their  ancient  fire  ; 

I  saw  fair  Freedom's  blossoms  richly  blow ; 
But,  ah  !  how  hope  is  born  but  to  expire ! 

Relentless  fate  has  laid  their  guardian  low.— 

*  My  patriot  falls,  but  shall  he  lie  unsung, 

While  empty  greatness  saves  a  worthless  name? 
No ;  every  Muse  shall  join  her  tuneful  tongue, 
And  future  ages  hear  his  growing  fame. 

'  And  I  will  join  a  mother's  tender  cares, 

Thro'  future  times  to  make  his  virtues  last, 
That  distant  years  may  boast  of  other  Blairs,'— - 

She  said,  and  vanish'd  with  the  sweeping  blast. 


140 


THE  POETS  WELCOME. 


TO  MISS  FERRIER, 

ENCLOSING  THE  ELEGY  ON  SIR  J.    H.    BLAIR. 


Nae  heathen  name  shall  I  prefix 

Frae  Pindus  or  Parnassus ; 
Auld  Reekie  dings  them  a'  to  sticks, 

For  rhyme-inspiring  lasses. 

Jove's  tunefu'  dochters  three  times  three 
Made  Homer  deep  their  debtor ; 

But,  gi'en  the  body  half  an  ee, 
Nine  Ferriers  wad  done  better  \ 

Last  day  my  mind  was  in  a  bog, 
Down  George's  Street  1  stoited ; 


A  creeping  cauld  prosaic  fog 
My  very  senses  doited. 

Do  what  I  dought  to  set  her  free, 

My  saul  lay  in  the  mire ; 
Ye  turned  a  neuk — I  saw  your  ee — 

She  took  the  wing  like  fire  ! 

The  mournfu'  sang  I  here  enclose, 

In  gratitude  I  send  you ; 
And  wish  and  pray  in  rhyme  sincere, 

A'  gude  things  may  attend  you  \ 


WRITTEN  ON  THE  BLANK  LEAF 

OP  A  COPY  OP  THE  FIRST  EDITION  [OF  HIS  POEMS],  WHICH   I  PRESENTED 
TO  AN  OLD  SWEETHEART,   THEN   MARRIED. 

ONCE  fondly  Wd,  and  still  remember'd  dear, 
Sweet  early  object  of  my  youthful  vows, 

Accept  this  mark  of  friendship,  warm,  sincere ; 
Friendship  J  'tis  all  cold  duty  now  allows. 

And  when  you  read  the  simple  artless  rhymes, 
One  friendly  sigh  for  him,  he  asks  no  more, 

Who  distant  burns  in  flaming  torrid  climes, 
Or  haply  lies  beneath  th'  Atlantic. roar. 


THE  POETS  WELCOME  TO  HIS  ILLEGITIMATE  CHILD. 


Thou'S  welcome,  wean !  mishanter  fa' 

me, 
If  ought  of  thee,  or  of  thy  mammy, 
Shall  ever  danton  me,  or  awe  me, 

My  sweet  wee  lady, 
Or  if  I  blush  when  thou  shalt  ca'  me 

Tit-ta  or  daddy. 

Wee  image  of  my  bonie  Betty, 
I  fatherly  will  kiss  and  daut  thee, 
As  dear  an'  near  my  heart  I  set  thee 

Wi'  as  gude  will, 
As  a*  the  priests  had  seen  me  get  thee 

That's  out  o'  hell. 


What  tho'  they  ca*  me  fornicator, 
An'  tease  my  name  in  kintra  clatter : 
The  mair  they  talk  I'm  kent  the  better, 

E'en  let  them  clash  ; 
An  auld  wife's  tongue's  a  feckless  matter 

To  gie  ane  fash. 


Sweet  fruit  o'  monie  a  merry  dint, 

My  funny  toil  is  now  a'  tint, 

Sin'  thou  came  to  the  warl  asklent, 

Which  fools  may  scoff  at ; 
In  my  last  plack  thy  part's  be  in't — 

The  better  haff  q% 


LETTER   TO  JAMES  TENNANT 


«4» 


An'  if  thou  be  what  I  wad  hae  thee, 
An'  tak  the  counsel  I  shall  gie  thee, 
A  lovtn'  father  I'll  be  to  thee, 

If  thou  be  spared ; 
Thro'  a'  thy  childish  years  I'll  ee  thee, 

An'  think't  weel  war'd. 


Gude  grant  that  thou  may  aye  inherit 
Thy  mither's  person,  grace,  an*  merit, 
An'  thy  poor  worthless  daddy's  spirit, 

Without  his  failins, 
'Twill  please  me  mair  to  hear  an*  see't, 

Than  stockit  mailing 


LETTER  TO  JOHN  GOUDIE,  KILMARNOCK, 

ON  THE  PUBLICATION  OF  HIS  ESSAYS. 


O  Goudie  !  terror  of  the  Whigs, 
Dread  o'  black  coats  and  rev'rend  wigs, 
Sour  Bigotry,  on  her  last  legs, 

Girnin'  looks  back, 
Wishin'  the  ten  Egyptian  plagues 

Wad  seize  you  quick. 

Poor  gapin"glowrin'  Superstition, 
Waes  me  !  she's  in  a  sad  condition; 
Fy,  bring  Black- Jock,  her  state  physician, 

To  see  her  water ; 
Alas !  there's  ground  o'  great  suspicion 

She'll  ne'er  get  better. 

Auld  Orthodoxy  lang  did  grapple, 
But  now  she's  got  an  unco'  ripple ; 
Haste,  gie  her  name  up  i'  the  chapel, 


Nigh  unto  death ; 
See  how  she  fetches  at  the  thrapple, 
An'  gasps  for  breath. 

Enthusiasm's  past  redemption, 
Gaen  in  a  galloping  consumption, 
Not  a'  the  quacks,  with  a'  then*  gumption, 

Will  ever  mend  her, 
Her  feeble  pulse  gies  strong  presumption, 

Death  soon  will  end  her. 

'Tis  you  and  Taylor  are  the  chief, 
Wha  are  to  blame  for  this  mischief; 
But  gin  the  Lord's  ain  folks  gat  leave, 

A  toom  tar-barrel 
An'  twa  red  peats  wad  send  relief, 

An*  end  the  quarrel. 


LETTER  TO  JAMES..  TENNANT,   GLENCONNER. 


AULD  comrade  dear  and  brither  sinner, 
How's  a*  the  folk  about  Glenconner  ; 
How  do  you  this  blae  eastlin  wind, 
That's  like  to  blaw  a  body  blind  ? 
For  me,  my  faculties  are  frozen, 
My  dearest  member  nearly  dozen 'd. 
I've  sent  you  here  by  Johnie  Simson, 
Twa  sage  philosophers  to  glimpse  on ; 
Smith,  wi'  his  sympathetic  feeling, 
An'  Reid,  to  common  sense  appealing. 
Philosophers  have  fought  an'  wrangled, 
An'  meikle  Greek  an'  Latin  mangled, 
Till  wi'  their  logic-jargon  tir'd, 
Ari'  in  the  depth  of  Science  mir'd, 
To  common  sense  they  now  appeal, 
What  wives  an'  wabsters  see  an'  feel. 
But»  hark  ye,  friend,  I  charge  you  strictly, 
Peruse  them,  an'  return  them  quickly, 


For  now  I'm  grown  sae  cursed  douse, 
I  pray  an'  ponder  butt  the  house, 
My  shins,  my  lane,  I  there  sit  roastin*, 
Perusing  Bunyan,  Brown,  an'  Boston ; 
Till*  by  an'  by,  if  I  haud  on, 
111  grunt  a  real  Gospel-groan: 
Already  I  begin  to  try  it, 
To  cast  my  een  up  like  a  pyeti 
When  by  the  gun  she  tumbles  o'er, 
Flutt'ring  an'  gaspin  in  her  gore  : 
Sae  shortly  you  shall  see  me  bright, 
A  burning  an'  a  shining  light. 

My  heart-warm  love  to  guid  auld  Glen, 
The  ace  an'  wale  of  honest  men  : 
When  bending  down  wi'  auld  grey  hairs, 
Beneath  the  load  of  years  and  cares, 
May  He  who  made  him  still  support  him, 
An'  views  beyond  the  grave  cdmfort  him* 


143 


EPISTLE  FROM  ESOPUS  TO  MARIA. 


His  worthy  fam'ly  far  and  near, 
God  bless  them  a'  wi'  grace  and  gear ! 
My   auld    school  -  fellow,     Preacher 
Willie, 
The  manly  tar,  my  mason  Billie, 
An*  Auchenbay,  I  wish  him  joy ; 
If  he's  a  parent,  lass  or  boy, 
May  he  be  dad,*  and  Meg  the  mither 
Just  five-and-forty  years  thegither  ! 
An'  no  forgetting  wabster  Charlie, 
I'm  tauld  he  offers  very  fairly.' 
An'  Lord,  remember  singing  Sannock, 
Wi'  hale-breeks,  saxpence,  an' a  bannock. 
An'  next,  my  auld  acquaintance,  Nancy, 
Since  she  is  fitted  to  her  fancy  ; 
An'  her  kind  stars  hae  airted  till  her 
A  good  chiel  wi'  a  pickle  siller. 
My  kindest,  best  respects  I  sen'  it, 
To  cousin  Kate  an'  sister  Janet ; 


Tell  them  frae  me,  wi'  chiels  be  cautious, 
For,   faith,   they'll    aiblins   fin*    them 

fashious  : 
To  grant  a  heart  is  fairly  civil, 
But  to  grant  a  maidenhead's  the  devil. — 
An'  lastly,  Jamie,  for  yoursel, 
May  guardian  angels  tak  a  spell, 
An'  steer  you  seven  miles  south  o*  hell  : 
But  first,  before  you  see  heav'n's  glory, 
May  ye  get  monie  a  merry  story, 
Monie  a  laugh,  and  monie  a  drink, 
An'  aye  enough  o'  needfu'  clink. 

Now  fare  ye  weel,  an*  joy  be  wi'  you, 
For  my  sake  this  I  beg  it  o'  you, 
Assist  poor  Simson  a'  ye  can, 
Ye'll  fin'  him  just  an  honest  man ; 
Sae  I  conclude  and  quat  my  chanter, 
Your's,  saint  or  sinner, 

Rob  the  Ranter. 


EPISTLE  FROM  ESOPUS  TO  MARIA. 

FROM  those  drear  solitudes  and  frowzy  cells, 

Where  infamy  with  sad  repentance  dwells  ; 

Where  turnkeys  make  the  jealous  portal  fast, 

And  deal  from  iron  hands  the  spare  repast ; 

Where  truant  'prentices,  yet  young  in  sin, 

Blush  at  the  curious  stranger  peeping  in ; 

Where  strumpets,  relics  of  the  drunken  roar, 

Resolve  to  drink,  nay,  half  to  whore,  no  more  ; 

Where  tiny  thieves  not  destin'd  yet  to  swing, 

Beat  hemp  for  others,  riper  for  the  string  : 

From  these  dire  scenes  my  wretched  lines  I  date, 

To  tell  Maria  her  Esopus'  fate. 

'  Alas  !  I  feel  I  am  no  actor  here  ! ' 

'Tis  real  hangmen,  real  scourges  bear ! 

Prepare,  Maria,  for  a  horrid  tale 

Will  turn  thy  very  rouge  to  deadly  pale  ; 

Will  make  thy  hair,  tho'  erst  from  gipsy  poll'd, 

By  barber  woven,  and  by  barber  sold, 

Though  twisted  smooth  with  Harry's  nicest  care, 

Like  hoary  bristles  to  erect  and  stare. 

The  hero  of  the  mimic  scene,  no  more 

I  start  in  Hamlet,  in  Othello  roar ; 

Or  haughty  Chieftain,  'mid  the  din  of  arms, 

In  Highland  bonnet  woo  Malvina's  charms; 

While  sans  culottes  stoop  up  the  mountain  high, 

And  steal  from  me  Maria's  prying  eye. 


EPISTLE  FROM  ESOPUS  TO  MARIA.  143 

Bless'd  Highland  bonnet !     Once  my  proudest  dress, 

Now  prouder  still,  Maria's  temples  press. 

I  see  her  wave  thy  towering  plumes  afar,. 

And  call  each  coxcomb  to  the  wordy  war. 

I  see  her  face  the  .first  of  Ireland's  sons, 

And  even  out-Irish  his  Hibernian  bronze  ; 

The  crafty  colonel  leaves  the  tartan'd  lines, 

For  other  wars,  where  he  a  hero  shines : 

The  hopeful  youth,  in  Scottish  senate  bred, 

Who  owns  a  Bushby's  heart  without  the  head, 

Comes  'mid  a  string  of  coxcombs  to  display, 

That  vent,  vidi^  vici,  is  his  way ; 

The  shrinking  bard  adown  an  alley  skulks, 

And  dreads  a  meeting  worse  than  Woolwich  hulks  ; 

Though  there,  his  heresies  in  church  and  state 

Might  well  award  him  Muir  and  Palmer's  fate : 

Still  she  undaunted  reels  and  rattles  on, 

And  dares  the  public  like  a  noontide  sun. 

{What  scandal  call'd  Maria's  jaunty  stagger, 

The  ricket  reeling  of  a  crooked  swagger  ? 

Whose  spleen  e'en  worse  than  Burns's  venom  when 

He  dips  in  gall  unmix' d  his  eager  pen, — 

And  pours  his  vengeance  in  the  burning  line, 

Who  christen' d  thus  Maria's  lyre  divine ; 

The  idiot  strum  of  vanity  bemused, 

And  even  th'  abuse  of  poesy  abused  ; 

Who  call'd.  her  verse  a  parish  workhouse,  made 

For  motley,  foundling  fancies,  stolen  or  stray'd  ?) 

A  workhouse  !  ah,  that  sound  awakes  my  woes, 

And  pillows  on  the  thorn  my  rack'd  repose ! 

In  durance  vile  here  must  I  wake  and  weep, 

And  all  my  frowzy  couch  in  sorrow  steep ; 

That  straw  where  many  a  rogue  has  lain  of  yore, 

And  vermin'd  gipsies  litter'd  heretofore. 

Why,  Lonsdale,  thus  thy  wrath  on  vagrants  pour, 
Must  earth  no  rascal,  save  thyself,  endure  V 
Must  thou  alone  in  guilt  immortal  swell, 
And  make  a  vast  monopoly  of  hell  ? 
Thou  know'st,  the  virtues  cannot  hate  thee  worse, 
The  vices  also,  must  they  club  their  curse  ? 
Or  must  no  tiny  sin  to  others  fall, 
Because  thy  guilt's  supreme  enough  for  all? 

Maria,  send  me  too  thy  griefs  and  cares ; 
In  all  of  thee  sure  thy  Esopus  shares. 
As  thou  at  all  mankind  the  flag  unfurls, 
Who  on  my  fair-one  satire's  vengeance  hurls  ? 
Who  calls  thee  pert,  affected,  vain  coquette, 
A  wit  in  folly,  and  a  fool  in  wit  ? 
Who  says  that  fool  alone  is  not  thy  due. 
And  quotes  thy  treacheries  to  prove  it  true  ? 


144 


EPISTLE  TO  ROBERT  GRAHAM,  ESQ, 


Our  force  united  on  thy  foes  we'll  turn, 

And  dare  the  war  with  all  of  woman  bom  : 

For  who  can  write  and  speak  *as  thou  and  I  ? 

My  periods  that  decyphering  defy, 

And  thy  still  matchless  tongue  that  conquers  all  reply. 

ON  A  SUICIDE. 

Earth'd  up  here  lies  an  imp  ov  hell, 

Planted  by  Satan's  dibble — 
Poor  silly  wretch,  he's  damn'd  himsel* 

To  save  the  Lord  the  trouble. 


A  FAREWELL. 

Farewell,  dear  Friend  !  may  guid  luck  hit  you, 
And,  mang  her  favourites  admit  you  ! 
If  e'er  Detraction  shore  to  smit  you, 

May  nane  believe  him ! 
And  ony  De'il  that  thinks  to  get  you, 

Good  Lord  deceive  him. 


THE  FAREWELL, 


Farewell,  old  Scotia's  bleak  domains, 
Far  dearer  than  the  torrid  plains 

Where  rich  ananas  blow  ! 
Farewell,  a  mother's  blessing  cjtear ! 
A  brother's  sigh !  a  sister's  tear ! 
My  Jean's  heart-rending  throe  ! 
Farewell,  my  Bess !  tho'  thou'rt  bereft 

Of  my  parental  care ; 
A  faithful  brother  I  have  left, 
My  part  in  him  thou'lt  share  ! 
Adieu  too,  to  you  too, 

My  Smith,  my  bosom  frien' ; 
When  kindly  you  mind  me, 
O  then  befriend  my  Jean  ! 


When  bursting  anguish  tears  my  heart, 
From  thee,  my  Jeany,  must  I  part  ? 

Thou  weeping  answ'rest  *  no  T 
Alas  !  misfortune  stares  my  face, 
And  points  to  ruin  and  disgrace, 

I  for  thy  sake  must  go  ! 
Thee,  Hamilton,  and  Aiken  dear, 

A  grateful,  warm  adieu  ! 
I,  with  a  much-indebted  tear, 
Shall  still  remember  you ! 
All-hail  then,  the  gale  then, 

Wafts  me  from  thee,  dear  shore ! 
It  rustles,  and  whistles, 
I'll  never  see  thee  more  ! 


EPISTLE   TO   ROBERT    GRAHAM,  ESQ. 

OF  FINTRYl 

ON  THE  CLOSE  OF   THE   DISPUTED    ELECTION    BETWEEN    SIR    JAMES    JOHNSTONE    AND    CAPTAIN 
MILLER,    FOR  THE  DUMFRIES   DISTRICT  OF  BOROUGHS. 

FlNTRY,  my  stay  in  worldly  strife, 
Friend  o'  my  Muse,  friend  o'  my  life, 

Are  ye  as  idle's  I  am  ? 
Come  then,  wi'  uncouth,  kintra  fleg, 
O'er  Pegasus  I'll  fling  my  leg, 

And  ye  shall  sec  me  try  him. 


£ 


EPISTLE  TO  ROBERT  GRAHAM,  ESQ.  145 

I'll  sing  the  zeal  Drumlanrig  bears 
Who  left  the  all-important  cares 

Of  princes  and  their  darlings  ; 
And,  bent  on  winning  borough  towns, 
Came  shaking  hands  wT  wabster  loons, 

And  kissing  barefit  carlms. 

Combustion  thro*  our  boroughs  rode 
Whistling  his  roaring  pack  abroad 

Of  mad  unmuzzled  lions ; 
As  Queensberry  buff  and  blue  unfurl'dj 
And  Westerha'  and  Hopeton  hurl'd 

To  every  Whig  defiance. 

But  cautious  Queensberry  left  the  war, 
Th'  unmanner'd  dust  might  soil  his  star ; 

Besides,  he  hated  bleeding ; 
But  left  behind  him  heroes  bright, 
Heroes  in  Cesarean  fight, 

Or  Ciceronian  pleading. 

O  !  for  a  throat  like  huge  Mons-Meg, 
To  muster  o'er  each  ardent  Whig 

Beneath  Drumlanrig's  banner ! 
Heroes  and  heroines  commix, 
All  in  the  field  of  politics, 

To  win  immortal  honour. 

M'Murdo  and  his  lovely  spouse, 

(Th'  enamour'd  laurels  kiss  her  brows  !) 

Led  on  the  loves  and  graces  : 
She  won  each  gaping  burgess'  hearty 
While  he,  all-conquering,  play'd  his  part 

•  Among  their  wives  and  lasses. 

Craigdarroch  led  a  light-arm'd  corps, 
Tropes,  metaphors  and  figures  pour, 

Like  Hecla  streaming  thunder  : 
Glenriddel,  skill'd  in  rusty  coins, 
Blew  up  each  Tory's  dark  designs, 

And  bared  the  treason  under. 

In  either  wing  two  champions  fought, 
Redoubted  Staig,  who  set  at  nought 

The  wildest  savage  Tory  : 
And  Welsh,  who  ne'er  yet  flinch 'd  his  ground, 
High-waved  his  magnum-bonum  round. 

With  Cyclopean  fury. 

Miller  brought  up  th'  artillery  ranks, 
The  many-pounders  of  the  Banks, 

Resistless  desolation  I 


14$  EPISTLE  TO  ROBERT  GRAHAM,  ESO. 

While  Maxwelton,  that  baron  bold, 
'Mid  Lawson's  port  entrench'd  his  hold, 

And  threaten'd  worse  damnation. 

To  these  what  Tory  hosts  oppos'd, 
With  these  what  Tory  warriors  clos'd, 

'  Surpasses  my  descriving : 
Squadrons  extended  long  and  large, 
With  furious  speed  rush  to  the  charge, 

Like  raging  devils  driving. 

What  verse  can  sing,  what  prose  narrate, 
The  butcher  deeds  of  bloody  fate 

Amid  this  mighty  tulzie  ! 
Grim  Horror  girn'd — pale  Terror  roar'd, 
As  Murther  at  his  thrapple  shor'd, 

And  Hell  mix'd  in  the  brulzie. 

As  Highland  crags  by  thunder  cleft, 
When  lightnings  fire  the  stormy  lift, 

Hurl  down  with  crashing  rattle  ; 
As  flames  among  a  hundred  woods  ; 
As  headlong  foam  a  hundred  floods ; 

Such  is  the  rage  of  battle  \ 

The  stubborn  Tories  dare  to  die  ; 
As  soon  the  rooted  oaks  would  fly 

Before  th'  approaching  fellers : 
The  Whigs  come  on  like  Ocean's  roar, 
When  all  his  wintry  billows  pour 

Against  the  Buchan  Bullers. 

Lo,  from  the  shades  of  Death's  deep  night, 
Departed  Whigs  enjoy  the  fight, 

And  think  on  former  daring : 
The  muffled  murtherer  of  Charles 
The  Magna  Charta  flag  unfurls, 

All  deadly  gules  its  bearing. 

Nor  wanting  ghosts  of  Tory  fame, 

Bold  Scrimgeour  follows  gallant  Graham, 

Auld  Covenanters  shiver. 
(Forgive,  forgive,  much  wrong'd  Montrose  ! 
Now  death  and  hell  engulf  thy  foes, 

Thou  liv'st  on  high  for  ever !) 

Still  o'er  the  field  the  combat  burns, 
The  Tories,  Whigs,  give  way  by  turns  ; 

But  Fate  the  word  has  spoken, 
For  woman's  wit  and  strength  o'  man, 
Alas  !  can  do  but  what  they  can  ! 

The  Tory  ranks  are  broken. 


ON  THE  DUKE  OF  QUEENSBERRY.  147 

O  that  my  een  were  flowing  burns  ! 
My  voice  a  lioness  that  moisrns 

Her  darling  cubs'  undoing  ! 
That  I  might  greet;  that  I  might  cry, 
While  Tories  fall,  while  Tories  fly, 

And  furious  Whigs  pursuing  ! 

What  Whig  but  melts  for  good  Sir  James  ? 
Dear  to  his  country  by  the  names 

Friend,  patron,  benefactor ! 
Not  Pulteney's  wealth  can  Pulteney  save  ! 
And  Hopeton  falls,  the  generous  brave  ! 

And  Stewart,  bold  as  Hector ! 

Thou,  Pitt,  shalt  rue  this  overthrow ; 
And  Thurlow  growl  a  curse  of  woe  ; 

And  Melville  melt  in  wailing  ! 
How  Fox  and  Sheridan  rejoice  ! 
And  Burke  shall  sing,  •  O  Prince,  arise, 

Thy  power  is  all-prevailing  J ' 

For  your  poor  frie'nd,  the  Bard,  afar 
He  only  hears  and  sees  the  war, 

A  cool  spectator  purely  ! 
So,  when  the  storm  the  forest  rends, 
The  robin  in  the  hedge  descends, 

And  sober  chirps  securely. 


STANZAS  ON  THE  DUKE  OF  QUEENSBERRY. 


How  shall  I  sing  Drumlanrig's  Grace, 
Discarded  remnant  of  a  race 

Once  great  in  martial  story  ? 
His  forbears'  virtues  all  contrasted — 
The  very  name  of  Douglas  blasted— 

His  that  inverted  glory. 


Plate,  envy,  oft  the  Douglas  borel 
But  he  has  superadded  more, 

And  sunk  them  in  contempt : 
Follies  and  crimes  have  stain'd  the  name, 
But,  Queensberry,  thine  the  virgin  claim, 

From  aught  that's  good  exempt. 


VERSES 

ON  THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THE  WOODS  NEAR  DRUMLANRIG. 


As  on  the  banks  o'  wandering  Nith, 

Ae  smiling  simmer-morn  I  strayM, 
And  traced  its  bonie  howes  and  haughs, 

Where    Unties    sang    and   lambkins 
play'd. 
t  sat  me  down  upon  a  craig, 

And  drank  my  fill  p'  fancy's  dream, 
When,  from  the  eddying  deep  below, 

Uprose  the  genius  of  the  stream. 


Dark,    like    the    frowning    rock,    his 
brow, 

And  troubled,  like  his  wintry  wave, 
And  deep,  as  sughs  the  boding  wind 

Amang  his  eaves,  the  sigh  he  gave— 
'And  came  ye  here,  my  son,'  he  cried, 

1  To  wander  in  my  birken  shade  ? 
To  muse  some  favourite  Scottish  themev 

Or  sing  some  favourite  Scottish  maid, 


148 


EPISTLE  TO  MAJOR  LOGAN. 


5  There  was  a  time,  it's  nae  lang  syne, 

Ye  might  hae  seen  me  in  my  pride, 
When  a'  my  banks  sae  bravely  saw 

Their  woody  pictures  in  my  tide  ; 
When  hanging  beech  and  spreading  elm 

Shaded  my  stream  sae  clear  and  cool, 
And  stately  oaks  their  twisted  arms 

Threw  broad  and  dark  across  the  pool ; 


When    glinting,    through    the    trees, 

appear'd 
The  wee  white  cot.aboon  the  mill, 
And  peacefu'  rose  its  ingle  reek, 
That  slowly  curled  up  the  hill. 
But  now  the  cot  is  bare  and  cauld, 

Its  branchy  shelter's  lost  and  gane, 
And  scarce  a  stinted  birk  is  left 
To  shiver  in  the  blast  its  lane. ' 


*  Alas  ! '  said  I,  *  what  ruefu'  chance 

Has  twined  ye  o'  your  stately  trees? 
Has  laid  your  rocky  bosom  bare  ? 

Has  stripp'dthe  deed  ingo' your  braes? 
Was  it  the  bitter  eastern  blast, 

That  scatters  blight  in  early  spring  ? 
Or  vvas't    the    wil'fire    scorch'd    their 
boughs, 

Or  canker-worm  wi'  secret  sting  ?  * 

'Nae  eastlin  blast,*  the  sprite  replied  ; 

'It  blew  na  here  sae  fierce  and  fell, 
Arid  on  my  dry  and  halesome  Jjanks 

Nae  canker-worms  get  leave  to  dwell : 
Man  !  cruel  man  !'  the  genius  sigh'd — 

As   through  the  cliffs  he  sank  him 
down— 
1  The  worm  that  gnaw'd  my  bonie  trees, 

That  reptile  wears  a  ducal  crown.' 


EPISTLE  TO   MAJOR   LOGAN. 


Hail,  thairm-inspirin',  rattlin'  Willie  ! 
Though  fortune's  road  be  rough  an'  hilly 
To  every  fiddling,  rhyming  billie, 

We  never  heed, 
But  take  it  like  the  unback'd  filly, 

Proud  o'  her  speed. 

When  idly  goavan  whyles  we  saunter, 
Yirr,  fancy  barks,  awa'  we  canter 
Uphill,  down  brae,  till  some  mishanter, 

Some  black  bog-hole, 
Arrests  us,  then  the  scathe  an'  banter 

We're  forced  to  thole. 

Hale  be  your  heart !  Hale  be  your  fiddle ! 
Lang  may  your  elbuck  jink  and  diddle, 
To  cheer  you  through  the  weary  widdle 

O'  this  wild  warl', 
Until  you  on  a  crummock  driddle 

A  gray-hair'd  carl. 

Come  wealth,  come  poortith,  late  or 

soon, 
Heaven  send  your  heart-strings  ay  in 

tune, 
And  screw  your  temper-pins  aboon 

A  fifth  or  mair, 
The  melancholious,  lazie  croon, 
O'  cankrie  care. 


May  still  your  life  from  day  to  day 

Nae  *  lente  largo  ■  in  the  play, 

But  'allegretto  forte'  gay 

Harmonious  flow 

A  sweeping,  kindling,  bauld  strathspey- 
Encore  !  Bravo ! 

A  blessing  on  the  cheery  gang 
Wha  dearly  like  a  jig  or  sang, 
An'  never  think  o'  right  ah'  wrang 

By  square  an'  rule, 
But  as  the  clegs  o'  feeling  stang 

Are  wise  or  fool. 

My  hand-waled  curse  keep  hard  in  chase 
The  harpy,  hoodock,  purse-proud  race, 
WTha  count  on  poortith  as  disgrace — 

Their  tuneless  hearts  ! 
May  fire-side  discords  jar  a  base 

To  a'  their  parts  ! 

But  come,  yourhand,my  careless  brither, 
I'  th'  ither  warl'  if  there's  anither. 
An'  that  there  is  I've  little  swither 

About  the  matter ; 
We 'cheek  for  chow  shall  jog  thegither, 

I'se  ne'er  bid  better. 


OJST  STIRLING. 


149 


We've    faults    and    failings  —  granted 

clearly, 
We're  frail  backsliding  mortals  merely, 
•Eve's  bonie  squad  priests  wyte  them 
sheerly 

For  our  grand  fa' ; 
But  still,  but  still,  I  like  them  dearly— 
God  bless  them  a' ! 

Ochon  for  poor  Castalian  drinkers, 
,When  they  fa'  foul  o'  earthly  jinkers, 
'The  witching  cursed  delicious  blinkers 

Hae  put  me  hyte, 
And  gart  me  weet  my  waukrife  winkers, 

Wi'  girnin  spite. 

But  by  yon  moon! — and  that's  high 

swearin' — 
An'  every  star  within  my  hearin' ! 
An'  by  her  een  wha  was  a  dear  ane  ! 

I'll  ne'er  forget ; 
I  hope  to  gie  the  jads  a  clearin' 

In  fair  play  yet. 
Mossgkl,  $oth  October,  1786. 


My  loss  I  mourn,  but  not  repent  it, 
I'll  seek  my  pursie  whare  I  tint  it, 
Ance  to  the  Indies  I  were  wonted, 

Some  cantraip  hour, 
By  some  sweet  elf  I'll  yejt  be  dinted, 

Then,  vivc  V amour ! 

Faites  wes  baissemains  respectuense^ 

To  sentimental  sister  Susie, 

An'  honest  Lucky ;  no  to  roose  you, 

Ye  may  be  proud, 
That  sic  a  couple  Fate  allows  ye 

To  grace  your  blood. 

Nae  mair  at  present  can  I  measure, 
An'    trowth    my   rhymin'  ware's  nae 

treasure ; 
But  when  in  Ayr,   some  half  hour's 
leisure, 

Be't  light,  be't  dark, 
.Sir  Bard  will  do  himself  the  pleasure 
To  call  at  Park. 


Robert  P.urns. 


EPITAlPH  ON  THE   POET'S   DAUGHTER. 

Here  lies  a  rose,  a  budding  rose, 

Blasted  before  its  bloom  ; 
Whose  innocence  did  sweets  disclose 

Beyond  that  flower's  perfume. 
To  those  who  for  her  loss  are  grieved, 

This  consolation's  given — 
She's  from  a  world  of  woe  relieved, 

And  blooms  a  rose  in  heaven. 


EPITAPH   ON   GABRIEL  RICHARDSON 

Here  Brewer  Gabriel's  fire's  extinct, 

And  empty  all  his  barrels : 
He's  blest— if,  as  he  brew'd,  he  drink, 

In  upright  honest  morals. 


ON   STIRLING. 

Here  Stuarts  once  in  glory  reign'd, 
And  laws  for  Scotland's  weal  ordain'd  ; 
But  now  unroof'd  their  palace  stands, 
Their  sceptre 's  sway'd  by  other  hands ; 
The  injured  Stuart  line  is  gone, 
A  race  outlandish  fills  their  throne. 
An  idiot  race  to  honour  lost, 
Who  know  them  best,  despise  them  most. 


$o 


ADDRESS  OF  BEELZEBUB. 


LINES 

ON  BEING  TOLD  THAT  THE  ABOVE  VERSES  WOULD  AFFECT   HIS   PROSPECTS. 

Rash  mortal,  and  slanderous  poet,  thy  name 

Shall  no  longer  appear  in  the  records  of  fame ; 

Dost  not  know  that  old  Mansfield,  who  writes  like  the  Bible, 

Says  the  more  'tis  a  truth,  sir,  the  more  'tis  a  libel  ? 

REPLY  TO  THE   MINISTER  OF  GLADSMUIR. 

Like  Esop's  lion,  Burns  says,  sore  I  feel 
All  others  scorn—but  damn  that  ass's  heel. 


EPISTLE  TO   HUGH   PARKER. 


In  this  strange  land,  this  uncouth  clime, 
A  land  unknown  to  prose  or  rhyme  ; 
Where  words  ne'er  crost  the    Muse's 

heckles, 
Nor  limpit  in  poetic  shackles ; 
A  land  that  prose  did  never  view  it, 
Except  when  drunk  he  stacher't  through 

it; 
Here,  ambush'd  by  the  chimla  cheek, 
Hid  in  an  atmosphere  of  reek, 
I  hear  a  wheel  thrum  i'  the  neuk, 
I  hear  it — for  in  vain  I  leuk. — 
The  red  peat  gleams,  a  fiery  kernel, 
Enhusked  by  a  fog  infernal  : 
Here,  for  my  wonted  rhyming  raptures, 
I  sit  and  count  my  sins  by  chapters  ; 
For  life  and  spunk  like  ither  Christians, 
I'm  dwindled  down  to  mere  existence, 
WH  nae  converse  but  Gallowa'  bodies, 
Wi'  nae  kend  face  but  Jenny  Geddes. 
Jenny,  my  Pegasean  pride  ! 
Dowie  she  saunters  down  Nithside, 
And  ay  a  westlin  leuk  she  throws, 
While,  tears  hap  o'er  her  auld  brown 

nose ! 


Was  it  for  this,  wi'  canny  care, 

Thou  bure  the  Bard  through  many  a 

shire  ? 
At  howes  or  hillocks  never  stumbled, 
And  late  or  early  never  grumbled  ?— 
O,  had  I  power  like  inclination, 
I'd  heeze  thee  up  a  constellation, 
To  canter  with  the  Sagitarre, 
Or  loup  the  ecliptic  like  a  bar ; 
Or  turn  the  pole  like  any  arrow  ; 
Or,    when   auld    Phoebus    bids    good- 
morrow, 
Down  the  zodiac  urge  the  race, 
And  cast  dirt  on  his  godship's  face-; 
For  I  could  lay  my  bread  and  kail 
He'd  ne'er  cast  saut  upo'  thy  tail. — 
Wi'  a'  this  care  and  a*  this  grief, 
And  sma',  sma'  prospect  of  relief, 
And  nought  but  peat  reck  i'  my  head, 
How  can  I  write  what  ye  can  read  ? — 
Tarbolton,  twenty-fourth  o'  June, 
Ye'll  find  me  in  a  better  tune ; 
But  till  we  meet  and  weet  our  whistle, 
Tak  this  excuse  for  nae  epistle. 

Robert  Burns. 


ADDRESS  OF  BEELZEBUB 

TO    THE    PRESIDENT    OF    THE    HIGHLAND    SOCIETY. 


Long  life,  my  Lord,  an*  health  be  yours, 
Unskaith'd  by  hunger'd  Highland  boors ; 
Lord  grant  nae  duddie  desperate  beggar, 
Wi'  dirk,  claymore,  or  rusty  trigger, 
May  twin  auld  Scotland  o'  a  life 


She  likes— as  lambkins  like  a  knife. 
Faith,  you  and  Applecross  were  right 
To  keep  the  Highland  hounds  in  sight, 
I  doubt  na' !  they  wad  bid  nae  better 
Than  let  them  ance  out  owre  the  water 


TO  MR.  JOHN  KENNEDY. 


»5* 


Than  up  amang  thae  lakes  and  seas 
They'll  male'  what  rules  and  laws  they 

please ; 
Some  daring  Hancock,  or  a  Franklin, 
May  set  their  Highland  bluid  a  rankliii' ; 
Some  Washington  again  may  head  them, 
Or  some  Montgomery  fearless  lead  them, 
Till  God  knows  what  may  be  effected 
When    by    such    heads    and    hearts 
directed ; 

Poor  dunghill  sons  of  dirt  and  mire 
May  to  Patrician  rights  aspire  ! 

Nae  sage  North,  now,  nor  sager  Sack- 
ville, 

To  watch  and  premier  o'er  the  pack  vile, 

An'  whare   will   ye   get   Howes  and 
Clintons 

To  bring  them  to  a  right  repentance, 

To  cowe  the  rebel  generation, 

An'  save  the  honour  o'  the  nation  ? 

They  an'  be  d d !    what  right  hae 

they 

To  meat  or  sleep,  or  light  o'  day  ! 

Far  less  to  riches,  pov/r,  or  freedom, 

But  what  your  lordship  likes  to  gie  them  ? 

But  hear,  my  lord  !  Glengarry,  hear  ! 
Your  hand's  owre  light  on  them,  I  fear  ; 
Your    factors,    grieves,    trustees,    and 

bailies, 
I  canna'  say  but  they  do  gaylies  ; 
They  lay  aside  a'  tender  mercies, 
June  x,  Anno  Mundi 5790. 


An*  tirl  the  hallions  to  the  birses ; 
Yet    while    they're   only   poind't   and 

herriet; 
They'll  keep  their  stubborn  Highland 

spirit ; 
But  smash  them !    crash  them  ar  to 

spails ! 
An'  rot  the  dyvors  i'  the  jails. ! 
The  young  dogs,   swinge  them  to  the 

labour  ! 
Let  wark  an'  hunger  mak'  them  sober ! 
The  hizzies,  if  they're  aughtlins  fawsont, 
Let  them  in  Drary-lane  be  lesson'd  ! 
An'  if  the  wives  an'  dirty  brats 
E'en  thigger  at  your  doors  an'  yetts 
Flaffan  wi'  duds  an'  grey  wi'  beas', 
Frightin'  av/a  your  deucks  an*  geese, 
Get  out  a  horsewhip  or  a  jowler, 
The  langest  thong,  the  fiercest  growler, 
An  gar  the  tatter'd  gypsies  pack 
Wi'  a'  their  bastarts  on  their  back  ! 
Go  on,  my  lord  !  I  lang  to  meet  you, 
An'  in  my  house  at  hame  to  greet  you  ; 
Wi'.  common  lords  ye  shanna  mingle, 
The  benmost  neuk  beside  the  ingle, 
At  my  right  han'  assign'd  your  seat 
'Tween  Herod's  hip  an'  Polycrate,— 
Or  if  you  on  your  station  tarrow 
Between  Almagro  and  Pizarro, 
A  seat,  I'm  sure,  ye're  weel  deservin't ; 
An'  till  ye  come — Your  humble  servant, 


Beelzebub. 


TO   MR.  JOHN   KENNEDY. 


Now  Kennedy,  if  foot  or  horse 

E'er  bring  you  in  by  Mauchline  Corss, 

Lord  man,  there's  lasses  there  wad  force 

A  hermit's  fancy, 
And  down  the  gate  in  faith  they're  worse 

And  mair  unchancy. 

But  as  I'm  savin*  please  step  to  Dow's 
And  taste  sic  gear  as  Johnny  brews, 
Till  some  bit  callan  brings  me  news 

That  you  are  there, 
And  if  we  dinna  had  a  bouze 

I'se  ne'er  drink  mair. 

It's  no  I  like  to  sit  an'  swallow, 
Then  like  a  swine  to  puke  an'  wallow, 
But  gie  me  just  a  true  good  fallow 


Wi'  right  ingine, 
And  spunkie  ance  to  make  us  mellow, 
And  then  we'll  shine. 

Now  if  ye're  ane  o'  warl's  folk, 
Wha  rate  the  wearer  by  the  cloak, 
An'  sklent  on  poverty  their  joke, 

Wi'  bitter  sneer, 
Wi'  you  no  friendship  I  will  troke 

Nor  cheap  nor  dear. 

But  if,  as  I'm  informed  weel, 
Ye  hate  as  ill's  the  vera  deil, 
The  flinty  hearts  that  canna  feel — 

Come,  Sir,  here's  tae  you  ; 
Hae  there's  my  haun'  I  wiss  you  weelt 

And  gude  be  wi*  you. 


<52  ON  THE  DEA  TH  OF  ROBERT  DUATDAS,  ESQ. 

# 
ON   THE  DEATH   OF  ROBERT  DUNDAS,  ESQ. 

OF  ARNISTON,.  LATE   LORD  PRESIDENT  OF  THE  COURT  OF  SESSION. 

Lone  on  the  bleaky  hills  the  straying  flocks 
Shun  the  fierce  storms  among  the  sheltering  rocks; 
Down  from  the  rivulets,  red  with  dashing  rains, 
The  gathering  floods  burst  o'er  the  distant  plains ; 
Beneath  the  blasts  the  leafless  forests  groan  ; 
The  hollow  caves  return  a  sullen  moan. 

Ye  hills,  ye  plains,  ye  forests,  and  ye  caves, 
Ye  howling  winds,  and  wintry  swelling  waves ! 
Unheard,  unseen,  by  human  ear  or  eye, 
Sad  to  your  sympathetic  scenes  I  fly  ; 
Where  to  the  whistling  blast  and  water's  roar, 
Pale  Scotia's  recent  wound  I  may  deplore. 

O  heavy  loss,  thy  country  ill  could  bear  ! 

A  loss  these  evil  days  can  ne'er  repair ! 

Justice,  the  high  vicegerent  of  her  God, 

Her  doubtful  balance  eyed,  and  sway'd  her  rod  ; 

Hearing  the  tidings  of  .the  fatal  blow, 

She  sunk,  abandon'd  to  the  wildest  woe. 

Wrongs,  injuries,  from  marfy  a  darksome  den, 
Now  gay  in  hope  explore  the  paths  of  men  : 
See  from  his  cavern  grim  Oppression  rise, 
And  throw  on  Poverty  his  cruel  eyes ; 
Keen  on  the  helpless  victim  see  him  fly, 
And  stifle,  dark,  the  feebly-bursting  cry  : 

Mark  ruffian  Violence,  distain'd  with  crimes, 

Rousing  elate  in  these  degenerate  times ; 

View  unsuspecting  Innocence  a  prey, 

As  guileful  Fraud  points  out  the  erring  way : 

While  subtile  Litigation's  pliunt  tongue 

The  life  blood  equal  sucks  of  Right  and  Wrong : 

Hark,  injured  Want  recounts  th'  unlisten'd  tale, 

And  much-wrong'd  Mis'ry  pours  th'  unpitied  wail ! 

Ye  dark  waste  hills,  and  brown  unsightly  plains, 
To  you  I  sing  my  grief- inspired  strains  : 
Ye  tempests,  rage  !  ye  turbid  torrents,  roll ! 
Ye  suit  the  joyless  tenor  of  my  soul. 
Life's  social  haunts  and  pleasures  I  resign, 
Be  nameless  wilds  and  lonely  wanderings  mine, 
To  mourn  the  woes  my  country  must  endure, 
That  wound  degenerate  ages  cannot  cure. 


ORTHODOX,  ORTHODOX. 


*53 


TO  JOHN  M'MURDO,  ESQ. 


O,  COULD  I  give  thee  India's  wealth, 

As  I  this  trifle  send  ! 
Because  thy  joy  in  both  would  be 

To  share  them  with  a  friend. 


But  golden  sands  did  never  grace 

The  Heliconian  stream ; 
Then  take  what  gold  could  never  buy— 

An  honest  Bard's  esteem. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  LAP-DOG, 


NAMED  ECHO, 


Itf  wood  and  wild,  ye  warbling  throng, 

Your  heavy  loss  deplore ; 
Now  half-extinct  your  powers  of  song, 

Sweet  Echo  is  no  more. 


Ye  jarring,  screeching  things  around, 
Scream  your  discordant  joys  ; 

Now  half  your  din  of  tuneless  sound 
With  Echo  silent  lies. 


LINES  WRITTEN  AT  LOUDON  MANSE. 


The  night  was  still,  and  o'er  the  hill 
The  moon  shone  on  the  castle  wa  ; 

The  mavis  sang,  while  dew-drops  hang 
Around  her,  on  the  castle  wa'. 


Sae  merrily  they  danced  the  ring, 
Frae  eenin*  till  the  cock  did  craw ; 

And  aye  the  o'erword  o'  the  spring, 
Was  Irvine's  bairns  are  bonie  a'. 


ORTHODOX,    ORTHODOX. 

A  SECOND   VERSION   OF  THE    KIRK'S    ALARM. 


Orthodox,  orthodox, 
Wfco  believe  in  John  Knox, 
Let  me  sound  an  alarm  to  your  con- 
science— 
There's  an  heretic  blast, 
Has  been  blawn  i'  the  wast 
That  what  is  not  sense  must  be  nonsense, 

Orthodox, 
That  what  is  not  sense  must  be  nonsense. 


Doctor  Mac,  Doctor  Mac, 

Ye  should  stretch  on  a  rack, 
To  strike  eyil-doers  wi'  terror  ; 

To  join  faith  and  sense, 

Upon  any  pretence, 
Was  heretic  damnable  error, 

Doctor  Mac, 
Was  heretic  damnable  error. 

Town"  of  Ayr,  town  of  Ayr, 
Tt  was  rash,  I  declare, 
To  meddle  wi*  mischief  a-brewing ; 


Provost  John  is  still  deaf 

To  the  church's  relief, 
And  orator  Bob  is  its  ruin, 

Town  of  Ayr, 
And  orator  Bob  is  its  ruin. 

D'rymple  mild,  D'rymple  mild, 

Tho'  your  heart's  like  a  child, 
And  your  life  like  the  new-driven  snaw, 

Yet  that  winna  save  ye, 

Old  Satan  must  have  ye 
For  preaching  that  three's  ane  an'  twa, 

D'rymple  mild, 
For  preaching  that  three's  ane  an'  twa. 

Calvin's  sons,  Calvin's  sons, 

Seize  your  spiritual  guns, 
Ammunition  ye  nevei  can  need  ; 

Your  hearts  are  the  stuff, 

Will  be  powder  enough, 
And  your  skulls  are  a  storehouse  of  lead, 

Calvin's  sons, 
And  your  skulls  are  a  storehouse  of  lead; 


*54 


ORTHODOX,  ORTHODOX. 


Rumble  John,  Rumble  John, 
Mount  the  steps  with  a  groan, 

Cry  the  book  is  with  heresy  cramm'd  ; 
Then  lug  out  your  ladle, 
Deal  brimstone  like  aidle, 

And  roar  every  note  o'  the  damn'd, 
Rumble  John, 

And  roar  every  note  o'  the  damn'd. 

Simper  James,  Simper  James, 
Leave  the  fair  Killie  dames, 

There's  a  holier  chase  in  your  view  ; 
I'll  lay  on  your  head, 
That  the  pack  ye' 11  soon  lead, 

For  puppies  like  you  there's  but  few, 
Simper  James, 

For  puppies  like  you  there's  but  few. 

Singet  Sawnie,  Singet  Sawnie, 

Are  ye  herding  the  penny, 
Unconscious  what  danger  awaits  ? 

With  a  jump,  yell,  and  howl, 

Alarm  every  soal, 
For  Hannibal 's  just  at  your  gates, 
Singet  Sawnie, 
For  Hannibal's  just  at  your  gates. 

Andrew  Gowk,  Andrew  Gowk, 
Ye  may  slander  the  book, 
And  the  book  nought  the  waur — let  me 
tell  you ; 
Tho'  ye're  rich  and  look  big, 
Yet  lay  by  hat  and  wig, 
And  ye'll  hae  a  calf 's-head  o'  sma'  value, 

Andrew  Gowk, 
And  ye'll  hae  a  calf 's-head  o'  sma'  value. 

Poet  Willie,  Poet  Willie, 

Gie  the  doctor  a  volley, 
Wi'  your  '  liberty's  chain '  and  your  wit: 

O'er  Pegasus'  side, 

Ye  ne'er  laid  a  stride, 
Ye  only  stood  by  when  he  sh — * 

Poet  Willie, 
Ye  only  stood  by  when  he  sh — . 

Bar  Steenie,,  Bar  Steenie, 
What  mean  ye?  what  mean  ye? 
If  ye'll  meddle  nae  mair  wi'  the  matter, 


Ye  may  hae  some  pretence,  man, 
To  havins  and  sense,  man, 

Wi'  people  that  ken  you  nae  better, 
Bar  Steenie, 

Wi'  people  that  ken  you  nae  better. 

Jamie  Goose,  Jamie  Goose, 
Ye  hae  made  but  tooin  roose, 
O'  hunting  the  wicked  lieutenant ; 
But  the  doctor's  your  mark, 
For  the  Lord's  holy  ark, 
He  has  cooper'd  and  ca'd  a  wrong  pin 
in't, 

Jamie  Goose, 
He  has  cooper'd  and  ca'd  a  wrong  pin 
in't. 

Davie  Bluster,  Davie  Bluster, 

For  a  saunt  if  ye  muster, 
It's  a  sign  they're  no  nice  o'  recruits, 

Yet  to  worth  let's  be  just, 

Royal  blood  ye  might  boast, 
If  the  ass  were  the  King  o'  the  brutes, 

Davie  Bluster, 
If  the  ass  were  the  King  o'  the  brutes. 

Muirland  George,  Muirland  George, 

Whom  the  Lord  made  a  scourge, 
To  claw  common  sense  for  her  sins; 

If  ill  manners  were  wit, 

There's  no  mortal  so  fit 
To  confound  the  poor  doctor  at  ance, 

Muirland  George, 
To  confound  the  poor  doctor  at  ance, 

Cessnockside,  Cessnockside, 
Wi'  your  turkey-cock  pride, 

O'  manhood  but  sma'  is  your  share  I 
Ye've  the  figure,  it's  true, 
Even  our  foes  maun  allow, 

And  your  friends  daurna  say  ye  hae  mair, 
Cessnockside, 

And  your  friends  daurna  say  ye  hae  mair. 

Daddie  Auld,  Daddie  Auld, 

There's  a  tod  i'  the  fauld, 
A  tod  meikle.  waur  than  the  clerk  ; 

Tho'  ye  downa  do  slsaith, 

Ye'll  be  in  at  the  death, 
And  if  ye  canna  bite  ye  can  bark, 

,Paddie  Auld, 
And  if  ye  canna  bite  ye  can  bark, 


ELEGY  ON  PEG  NICHOLSON". 


«5S 


Poet  Burns,  Poet  Burns, 

Wi'  your  priest-skelping  turns, 
Why  desert  ye  your  auld  native  shire  ? 

Tho'  your  Muse  is  a  gipsy, 

Yet  were  she  even  tipsy, 
She  could  ca*  us  nae  waur  than  we  are, 

Poet  Burns, 
She  could  ca'  us  nae  waur  than  we  are. 


POSTSCRIPT. 

Afton's  Laird,  Afton's  Laird, 

When  your  pen  can  be  spared, 
A  copy  o'  this  I  bequeath, 

On  the  same  sicker  score 

I  mentioned  before, 
To  that  trusty  auld  worthy  Clackleith, 

Afton's  Laird, 
To  that  trusty  auld  worthy  Clackleith. 


THE  SELKIRK  GRACE. 

Some  hae  meat,  and  canna  eat, 
And  some  wad  eat  that  want  it; 

But  we  hae  meat  and  we  can  eat, 
And  sae  the  Lord  be  thanket. 


ELEGY  ON   THE   DEATH  OF  PEG  NICHOLSON. 


Peg  Nicholson  was  a  gude  bay  mare, 

As  ever  trode  on  aim ; 
But  now  she's  floating  down  the  Nith, 

An'  past  the  mouth  o'  Cairn. 

Peg  Nicholson  was  a  gude  bay  mare} 
An'  rode  thro'  thick  an'  thin ; 

But  now  she's  floating  down  the  Nith, 
An'  wanting  even  the  skin. 


Peg  Nicholson  was  a  gude  bay  mare, 

An'  ance  she  bare  a  priest ; 
But  now  she's  floating  down  the  Nith, 

For  Solway  fish  a  feast, 

Peg  Nicholson  was  a  gude  bay  mare, 
An'  the  priest  he  rode  her  sair ; 

An'  meikle  oppress'd  an' bruised  she  was, 
As  priest-rid  cattle  are. 


ON   SEEING  MISS   FONTENELLE 


IN   A   FAVOURITE   CHARACTER. 


Sweet  naivete  of  feature, 
Simple,  wild,  enchanting  elf, 

Not  to  thee,  but  thanks  to  Nature, 
Thou  art  acting  but  thyself. 


Wert  thou  awkward,  stiff,  affected, 
Spurning  nature,  torturing  art ; 

Loves  and  graces  all  rejected, 
Then  indeed  thou'dst  act  a  part. 


THE  SOLEMN  LEAGUE  AND  COVENANT. 


.  The  Solemn  League  and  Covenant 

Now  brings  a  smile,  now  brings  a  tear  ; 
But  sacred  Freedom,  too,  was  theirs  : 
If  thou'rt  a  slave,  indulge  thy  sneer. 


!56  THE  KIRK  OF  LA  MING  TON. 


ON  MISS  JESSY   LEWARS. 


Talk  not  lo  me  of  savages 
From  Afric's  burning  sun, 

No  savage  e'er  could  rend  my  heart, 
As,  Jessy,  thou  hast  done. 


But  Jessy's  lovely  hand  in  mine, 

A  mutual  faith  to  plight, 
Not  ev'n  to  view  the  heavenly  choir, 

Would  be  so  blest  a  sight. 


EPITAPH   ON   MISS  JESSY  LEWARS. 

Say,  Sages,  what's  the  charm  on  earth 

Can  turn  Death's  dart  aside  ? 
It  is  not  purity  and  worth, 

Else  Jessy  had  not  died. 


THE  RECOVERY  OF  JESSY  LEWARS. 

BUT  rarely  seen  since  Nature's  birth, 

The  natives  of  the  sky, 
Yet  still  one  Seraph's  left  on  earth, 

For  Jessy  did  not  die. 


THE  TOAST. 

Fill  me  with  the  rosy  wine, 
Call  a  toast,,  a  toast  divine  ; 
Give  the  Poet's  darling  flame, 
Lovely  Jessy  be  the  name ; 
Then  thou  mayest  freely  boast, 
Thou  hast  given  a  peerless  toast, 


THE   KIRK  OF  LAMINGTON, 

As  cauld  a  wind  as  ever  blew, 
A  caulder  kirk,  and  in't  but  few  ; 
As  cauld  a  minister's  e'er  spak, 
Yc'se  a'  be  het  ere  I  come  back. 


WRITTEN  ON  A  BLANK  LEAF 

OF  ONE  OF   MISS   HANNAH    MORE's  WORKS,   WHICH   SHE   HAD  GIVEN   HIM. 


THOU  flattering  mark  of  friendship  kind 
Still  may  thy  pages  call  to  mind 

The  dear,  the  beauteous  donor  : 
Though  sweetly  female  every  part, 
Yet  such  a  head,  and  more  the  heart,  The  giver  in  the  gift  ; 

Does  both  the  sexes  honour.  I'll  bless  her  and  wiss  her 

She  show'd  her  tastes  refined  and  just      I  A  Friend  above  the  Lift. 


When  she  selected  thee, 
Yet  deviating  own  I  must, 
For  so  approving  me. 

But  kind  still,  I'll  mind  still 


WILLIE  CHALMERS. 


157 


INSCRIPTION  ON  A  GOBLET. 

WRITTEN   IN   THE  HOUSE  OF  MR.    SYME. 

There's  death  in  the  cup— sae  beware ! 

Nay,  more— there  is  danger  in  touching ; 
But  wha  can  avoid  the  fellsnare ? 

The  man  and  his  wine's  sae  bewitching ! 

THE  BOOK-WORMS. 

Through  and  through  the  inspired  leaves, 
Ye  maggots,  make  your  windings ; 

But,  oh  !  respect  his  lordship's  taste, 
And  spare  his  golden  bindings. 

ON  ROBERT  RIDDEL. 

To  Riddel,  much-lamented  man, 

This  ivied  cot  was  dear ; 
Reader,  dost  value  matchless  worth  ? 

This  ivied  cot  revere. 


WILLIE  CHALMERS. 


Wi'  braw  new  branks  in  mickle  pride, 

And  eke  a  braw  new  brechan, 
My  Pegasus  I'm  got  astride, 

And  up  Parnassus  pechin  ; 
Whiles  owre  a  bush  wi'  downward  crush, 

The  doited  beastie  stammers ; 
Then  up  he  gets,  and  off  he  sets 

For  sake  o'  Willie  Chalmers. 

I  doubt  na,  lass,  that  weel  kenn'd  name 

May  cost  a  pair  o'  blushes ; 
I  am  nae  stranger  to  your  fame 

Nor  his  warm  urged  wishes. 
Your  bonie  face  sae  mild  and  sweet, 

His  honest  heart  enamours, 
And  faith  ye' 11  no  be  lost  a  whit, 

Tho'  waired.on  Willie  Chalmers. 

Auld  Truth  hersel'  might  swear  ye're  fair, 

And  Honour  safely  back  her, 
And  Modesty  assume  your  air, 

And  ne'er  a  ane  mistak'  her  : 
And  sic  twa  love-inspiring  een 

Might  fire  even  holy  Palmers ; 
Nae  wonder  then  they've  fatal  been 

To  honest  Willie  Chalmers. 


I  doubt  na  fortune  may  you  shore 

Some  mim-mou'd  pouther'd  priestie. 
Fu'  lifted  up  wi'  Hebrew  lore, 

And  band  upon  his  breastie  : 
But  oh  !  what  signifies  to  you, 

His  lexicons  and  grammars  ; 
The  feeling  heart 's  the  royal  blue, 

And  that's  wi'  Willie  Chalmers. 

Some  gapin'  glowrin*  countra  laird, 

May  warsle  for  your  favour  ; 
May  claw  his  lug,  and  straik  his  beard, 

And  host  up  some  palaver. 
My  bonie  maid,  before  ye  wed 

Sic  clumsy-witted  hammers, 
Seek  Heaven  for  help,  and  barefit  skelp 

Awa'  wi'  Willie  Chalmers. 

Forgive  the  Bard  !  my  fond  regard 

For  ane  that  shares  my  bosom, 
Inspires  my  muse  to  gie  'm  his  dues, 

For  de'il  a  hair  I  roose  him. 
May  powers  aboon  unite  you  soon, 

And  fructify  your  amours, — 
And  every  year  come  in  mair  dear 

To  you  and  Willie  Chalmers. 


158  REMORSE. 


With  Pegasus  upon  a  day, 

Apollo  weary  flying, 
Through  frosty  hills  the  journey  lay, 

On  foot  the  way  was  plying. 


TO  JOHN  TAYLOR. 

Obliging  Vulcan  fell  to  work, 
Threw  by  his  coat  and  bonnet, 

And  did  Sol's  business  in  a  crack ; 
Sol  paid  him  with  a  sonnet. 


Poor  slip-shod  giddy  Pegasus 
Was  but  a  sorry  walker ; 

To  Vulcan  then  Apollo  goes, 
To  get  a  frosty  calker. 


Ye  Vulcan's  sons  of  Wanlockhead, 

Pity  my  sad  disaster ; 
My  Pegasus  is  poorly  shod — 

I  '11  pay  you  like  my  master. 


LINES  WRITTEN  ON  A  BANK-NOTE. 

Wae  worth  thy  power,  thou  cursed  leaf! 

Fell  source  o'  a'  my  woe  and  grief ! 

For  lack  <$  thee  I've  lost  my  lass  ! 

For  lack  o'  thee  I  scrimp  my  glass  ! 

I  see  the  children  of  affliction 

Unaided,  thro'  thy  curs'd  restriction. 

I've  seen  the  oppressor's  cruel  smile, 

Amid  his  hapless  victim's  spoil. 

For  lack  o'  thee  I  leave  this  much -lov'd  shore, 

Never,  perhaps,  to  greet  old  Scotland  more. 

R.  B.     Kyle. 

THE  LOYAL  NATIVES1  VERSES. 

Ye  sons  of  sedition,  give  ear  to  my  song, 
Let  Syme,  Burns,  and  Maxwell  pervade  every  throng, 
With  Crack  en  the  attorney,  and  Mundell  the  quack, 
Send  Willie-  the  monger  to  hell  with  a  smack. 

These  verses  were  handed  over  the  table  to  Burns  at  a  convivial  meeting,  and  he  endorsed  thi 
subjoined  reply : 

BURNS— EXTEMPORE. 

Ye  true  '  Loyal  Natives,'  attend  to  my  song, 

In  uproar  and  riot  rejoice  the  night  long  ; 

From  envy  and  hatred  your  corps  is  exempt ; 

But  where  is  your  shield  from  the  darts  of  contempt  ? 

REMORSE. 

Of  all  the  numerous  ills  that  hurt  our  peace, 

That  press  the  soul,  or  wring  the  mind  with  anguish, 

Beyond  comparison  the  worst  are  those 

That  to  our  folly  or  our  guilt  we  owe. 

In  every  other  circumstance,  the  mind 

Has  this  to  say — *  It  was  no  deed  of  mine ;' 


*1N  VAIN  WOULD  PRUDENCE:  159 

But  when  to  all  the  evil  of  misfortune 
This  sting  is  added-—*  Blame  thy  foolish  self!' 
Or  worser  far,  the  pangs  of  keen  Remorse  ; 
The  torturing,  gnawing  consciousness  of  guilt — 
Of  guilt,  perhaps,  where  we've  involved  others ; 
The  young,  the  innocent,  who  fondly  lov'd  us, 
Nay,  more,  that  very  love  their  cause  of  ruin  ! 
O  burning  hell !  in  all  thy  store  of  torments, 
There's  not  a  keener  lash  ! 
Lives  there  a  man  so  firm,  who,  while  his  heart 
Feels  all  the  bitter  horrors  of  his  crime, 
Can  reason  down  its  agonizing  throbs  ; 
And,  after  proper  purpose  of  amendment, 
Can  firmly  force  his  jarring  thoughts  to  peace? 
O,  happy  !  happy  !  enviable  man  ! 
O  glorious  magnanimity  of  soul ! 

THE  TOAD-EATER. 

What  of  earls  with  whom  you  have  supt, 

And  of  dukes  that  you  dined  with  yestreen  ? 
Lord  !  a  louse,  Sir,  is  still  but  a  louse, 

Though  it  crawl  on  the  curls  of  a  Queen. 


TO 

Sir, 

YOURS  this  moment  I  unseal, 
And  faith  I  am  gay  and  hearty ! 

To  tell  the  truth  an'  shame  the  Deil 
I  am  as  fu'  as  Bartie  : 


Mossgiel,  — — »  1786. 

But  foorsday,  Sir,  my  promise  leal 
Expect  me  o'  your  party, 

If  on  a  beastie  1  can  speel, 
Or  hurl  in  a  cartie.  R.  B. 


•IN  VAIN  WOULD  PRUDENCE.' 

In  vain  would  Prudence,  with  decorous  sneer, 
Point  out  a  cens'ring  world,  and  bid  me  fear ; 
Above  that  world  on  wings  of  love  I  rise, 
I  know  its  worst — and  can  that  worst  despise. 
'  Wrong'd,  injur'd,  shunn'd  ;  unpitied,  unredrest, 
The  mock'd  quotation  of  the  scorner's  jest/ 
Let  Prudence'  direst  bodements  on  me  fall, 
Clarinda,  rich  reward  !  o'erpays  them  all ! 

THOUGH  FICKLE  FORTUNE/ 

Though  fickle  Fortune  has  deceiv'd  me, 
She  promis'd  fair  and  perform'd  but  ill ; 

Of  mistress,  friends,  and  wealth  bereav'd  me, 
Yet  I  bear  a  heart  shall  support  me  still,—- 


t6o  TAM  THE  CHAPMAN. 


I'll  act  with  prudence  as  far's  I'm  able, 
But  if  success  I  must  never  find, 

Then  come  misfortune,  t  bid  thee  welcome, 
I'll  meet  thee  with  an  undaunte'd  mind. — 


<I  BURN,  I  BURN.' 

*  I  BURN,  I  burn,  as  when  thro*  ripen'd  corn 
By  driving  winds  the  crackling  flames  are  borne,' 
Now  maddening,  wild,  I  curse  that  fatal  night ; 
Now  bless  the  hour  which  charm 'd  my  guilty  sight. 
In  vain  the  laws  their  feeble  force  oppose : 
Chain'd  at  his  feet  they  groan,  Love's  vanquish'd  foes 
In  vain  religion  meets  my  sinking  eye  ; 
I  dare  not  combat— but  I  turn  and  fly  ; 
Conscience  in  vain  upbraids  th'  unhallow'd  fire  j 
Love  grasps  his  scorpions — stifled  they  expire  \ 
Reason  drops  headlong  from  his  sacred  throne, 
Your  dear  idea  reigns  and  reigns  alone  : 
Each  thought  intoxicated  homage  yields, 
And  riots  wanton  in  forbidden  fields  ! 

By  all  on  high  adoring  mortals  know ) 
By  all  the  conscious  villain  fears  below ! 
By  your  dear  self  '—the  last  great  oath  I  swear  *, 
Nor  life  nor  soul  were  ever  half  so  dear  1 


EPIGRAM  ON  A  NOTED  COXCOMB. 

Light  lay  the  earth  on  Billys  breast, 

His  chicken  heart  so  tender ; 
But  build  a  castle  on  his  head, 

His  skull  will  prop  it  under. 


TAM  THE  CHAPMANc 

As  Tarn  the  Chapman  on  a  day 

Wi*  Death  forgather'd  by  the  way, 

Weel  pteas'd,  he  greets  a  wight  sae  famous, 

And  Death  was  nae  less  pleased  wi*  Thomas, 

Wha  cheerfully  lays  down  the  pack* 

And  there  blaws  up  a  hearty  crack ; 

His  social,  friendly,  honest  heart, 

Sae  tickled  Death  they  could  na  part : 

Sae  after  viewing  knives  and  garters, 

Death  takes  him  hame  to  gie  him  quarters. 


FRAGMENT.  167 


TO     DR.     MAXWELL, 

ON  MISS  JESSY  STAIG'S  RECOVERV. 

Maxwell,  if  merit  here  you  crave, 

That  merit  I  deny  : 
You  save  fair  Jessy  from  the  grave  ! 

An  Angel  could  not  die. 


FRAGMENT. 


Now  health  forsakes  that  angel  face, 
Nae  mair  my  Dearie  smiles ; 

Pale  sickness  withers  ilka  grace, 
And  a*  my  hopes  beguiles. 


The  cruel  powers  reject  the  prayer 

I  hourly  mak'  for  thee  ; 
Ye  heavens,  how  great  is  my  despair, 

How  can  I  see  him  dee ! 


THERE'S  NAETHIN  LIKE  THE  HONEST  NAPPY. 


There's  naethin  like  the  honest  nappy! 
Whaur'll  ye  e'er  see  men  sae  happy, 
Or  women  sonsie,  saft  an*  sappy, 

'Tween  morn  an'  morn, 
As  them  wha  like  to  taste  the  drappie 

In  glass  or  horn. 


I've  seen  me  daez't  upon  a  time ; 
I  scarce  could  wink  or  see  a  styme ; 
Just  ae  hauf  mutchkin  does  me  prime, 

Ought  less  is  little, 
Then  back  I  rattle  on  the  rhyme 

As  gleg's  a  whittle  f 


PROLOGUE, 

SPOKEN  BY  MR.  WOODS,  ON   HIS  BBN&F1T*KIGMT#  MONDAY,  APRIL  l6,   1787 

When  by  a  generous  public's  kind  acclaim, 
That  dearest  meed  is  granted — honest  fame ; 
When  here  your  favour  is  the  actor's  lot, 
Nor  even  the  mah  in  private  life  forgot ; 
What  breast  so  dead  to  heav'nly  virtue's  glow, 
But  heaves  impassion'd  With  the  grateful  throe  ? 
Poor  is  the  task  to  please  a  barb'rous  throng, 
It  needs  no  Siddons*  power  in  Southern's  song : 
But  here  an  ancient  nation,  fam'd  afar 
For  genius,  learning  high,  as  great  in  war- 
Hail,  Caledonia  !  name  for  ever  dear ! 
Before  whose  sons  I'm  honour'd  to  appear ! 
Where  every  science,  every  uobler  art — 
That  can  inform  the  mind,  or  mend  the  heart, 
Is  known  ;  as  grateful  nations  oft  have  foun4» 
Far  as  the  rude  barbarian  marks  the  bound. 
Philosophy,  no  idle,  pedant  dream, 
Here  holds  her  search,  by  heaven-taught  Reason's  beam ; 
Here  History  paints  with  elegance  and  force, 
The  tide  of  Empire's  fluctuating  course ; 


1 62 


NATURE'S  LA  W. 


Here  Douglas  forms  wild  Shakespeare  into  plan, 
And  Harley  rouses  all  the  god  in  man. 
When  well-form'd  taste  and  sparkling  wit  unite, 
With  manly  love,  or  female  beauty  bright, 
(Beauty,  where  faultless  symmetry  and  grace 
Can  only  charm  us  in  the  second  place,) 
Witness  my  heart,  how  oft  with,  panting  fear, 
As  on  this  night,  I've  met  these  judges  here ! 
But  still  the  hope  Experience  taught  to  live, 
Equal  to  judge — you're  candid  to  forgive. 
No  hundred-headed  Riot  here  we  meet, 
With  decency  and  law  beneath  his  feet, 
Nor  Insolence  assumes  fair  Freedom's  name ; 
Like  Caledonians,  you  applaud  or  blame. 

O  Thou,  dread  Power  I  whose  empire-giving  hand 
Has  oft  been  stretch'd  to  shield  the  hOnour'd  land, 
Strong  may  she  glow  with  all  her  ancient  fire : 
May  every  son  be  worthy  of  his  sire ; 
Firm  may  she  rise  with  generous  disdain 
At  Tyranny's,  or  direr  Pleasure's  chain; 
Still  self-dependent  in  her  native  shore, 
Bold  may  she  brave  grim  Danger's  loudest  roar, 
Till  Fate  the  curtain  drop  orx  worlds  to  be  no  more. 


NATURE'S  LAW. 

A  POEM  HUMBLY  INSCRIBED  TO  G.   H.  ESQ. 

Great  nature  sJ>ohet  observant  man  obeyed. 

Pope. 


Let  other  heroes  boast  their  scars, 

The  marks  of  sturt  and  strife  : 
And  other  Poets  sing  of  wars, 

The  plagues  of  human  life  ; 
Shame  fa'  the  fun  ;  wi'  sword  and  gun 

To  slap  mankind  like  lumber  \ 
I  sing  his  name  and  nobler  fame, 

Wha  multiplies  our  number. 

Great  Nature  spoke,  with  air  benign, 

*  Go  on,  ye  human  race  ! 

4  This  lower  world  I  you  resign ; 

*  Be  fruitful  and  increase. 

'  The  liquid  fire  of  strong  desire 

*  I've  pour'd  it  in  each  bosom  ; 

'  Here,  in  this  hand,  does  mankind  stand, 
'And  there,  is  Beauty's. blossi 


The  Hero  of  these  artless  strains, 

A  lowly  Bard  was  he, 
Who  sung  his  rhymes  in  Coila's  plains 

With  meikle  mirth  an'  glee ; 
Kind  Nature's  care  had  given  his  share* 

Large,  of  the  flaming  current ; 
And,  all  devout,  he  never  sought 

To  stem  the  sacred  torrent. 

He  felt  the  powerful,  high  behest, 

Thrill,  vital,  thro'  and  thro' ; 
And  sought  a  correspondent  breast, 

To  give  obedience  due  ; 
Propitious  Powers  screen'd  the  young 
flow'rs, 

From  mildews  of  abortion  ; 
And  lo  !  the  Bard,  a  great  reward^ 

Has  got  a  double  portion ! 


TRAGIC  FRAGMENT. 


'63 


Auld,  cantie  Coil  may  count  the  day, 

As  annual  it  returns, 
The  third  of  Libra's  equal  sway, 

That  gave  another  Burns, 
With  future  rhymes,  an'  other  times, 

To  emulate  his  sire  ; 
To  sing  auld  Coil  in  nobler  style 

With  more  poetic  fire. 


Ye  Powers  of  peace,  and  peaceful  song, 

Look  down  with  gracious  eyes  ; 
And  bless  auld  Coila,  large  and  long, 

With  multiplying  joys. 
Long  may  she  stand  to  prop  the  land, 

The  flow'r  of  ancient  nations ; 
And  Burnses  spring,  her  fame  to  sing, 

To  endless  generations ! 


THE  CATS  LIKE  KITCHEN. 


The  cats  like  kitchen  ; 

The  dogs  like  broo  ; 
The  lasses  like  the  lads  weel, 

And  th'  auld  wives  too. 


CHORUS. 
And  we're  a*  noddin, 

Nid,  nid,  noddin, 
We're  a'  noddin  fou  at  e'en. 


TRAGIC  FRAGMENT. 

All  dtvil  as  I  am,  a  damned  wretch, 

A  harden'd,  stubborn,  unrepenting  villain, 

Still  my  heart  melts  at  human  wretchedness ; 

And  with  sincere  tho*  unavailing  sighs 

I  view  the  helpless  children  of  distress. 

With  tears  of  indignation  I  behold  th'  oppressor 

Rejoicing  in  the  honest  man's  destruction, 

Whose  unsubmifting  heart  was  all  his  crime. 

Even  you,  ye  helpless  crew,  I  pity  you  ; 

Ye,  whom  the  seeming  good  think  sin  to  pity; 

Ye  poor,  despis'd,  abandon'd  vagabonds, 

Whom  Vice,  as  usual,  has  turn'd  o'er  to  Rum. 

0  but  for  kind,  tho'  ill-requited  friends, 

1  had  been  driven  forth  like  you  forlorn, 

The  most  detested,  worthless  wretch  among  you ! 

O  injur'd  God !  Thy  goodness  has  endow'd  me 

With  talents  passing  most  of  my  compeers, 

Which  I  in  just  proportion  have  abus'd, 

As  far  surpassing  other  common  villains, 

As  Thou  in  natural  parts  hadst  given  me  more. 


EXTEMPORE. 

ON  PASSING  A  LADY*S  CARRIAGE.      [MRS.    MARIA   RIDDEL'S.} 

If  you  rattle  along  like  your  mistress's  tongue, 

Your  speed  will  out-rival  the  dart : 
But,  a  fly  for  your  load,  you'll  break  down  on  the  road, 

If  your  stuff  be  as  rotten's  her  heart. 


164 


FRAGMENTS. 


FRAGiMENTS. 


Ye  hae  lien  a'  wrang,  lassie, 

Ye've  lien. a'  wrang  ; 
Ye've  lien  in  an  unco  bed, 

And  wi'  a  fremit  man. 
O  ance  ye  danced  upon  the  knowes, 

And  ance  ye  lightly  sang— 
But  in  herrying  o'  a  bee  byke,, 

I'm  rad  ye've  got  a  stang. 


O  GIE  my  love  brose,  brose, 

Gie  my  love  brose  and  butter; 
For  nane  in  Carrick  or  Kyle 

Can  please  a  lassie  better. 
The  lav'rock  lo'es  the  grass, 

The  muirhen  lo'es  the  heather ; 
But  gie  me  a  braw  moonlight, 

And  me  and  my  love  together. 


Lass,  when  your  mither  is  frae  hame, 

Might  I  but  be  sae  bauld 
As  come  to  your  bower-window, 

And  creep  in  frae  the  cauld, 
As  come  to  your  bovver-window, 

And  when  it's  cauld  and  wat, 
Warm  me  in  thy  sweet  bosom  ; 

Fair  lass,  wilt  thou  do  that  ? 

Young  man,  gif  ye  should  be  sae  kind, 

When  our  gudewife's  frae  hame, 
As  come  to  my  bower-window, 

Whare  I  am  laid  my  lane, 
And  warm  thee  in  my  bosom — 

But  I  will  tell  thee  what, 
The  way  to  me  lies  through  the  kirk ; 

Young  man.  do  ye  hear  that  ? 


I  met  a  lass,  a  bonie  lass» 

Coming  o'er  the  braes  o'  Couper, 
Bare  her  leg  and  bright  her  een, 

And  handsome  ilka  bit  about  her. 
Weel  I  wat  she  was  a  quean 

Wad  made  a  body's  mouth  to  water; 
Our  Mess  John,  wi'  his  lyarl  pow, 

His  haly  lips  wad  lickit  at  her. 


O  WAT  ye  what  my  minnie  did, 
My  minnie  did,  my  minnie  did, 

0  wat  ye  what  my  minnie  did, 
On  Tysday  'teen  to  me,  jo  ? 

She  laid  me  in  a  saft  bed, 

A  saft  bed,  a  saft  bed, 
She  laid  me  in  a  saft  bed, 

And  bade  gudeen  to  me,  jo. 

An'  wat  ye  what  the  parson  did, 

The  parson  did,  the  parson  did, 
An'  wat  ye  what  the  parson  did, 

A'  for  a  penny  fee,  jo  ? 
He  loosed  on  me  a  lang  man, 

A  mickle  man,  a  Strang  man, 
He  loosed  on  me  a  lang  man, 

That  might  hae  worried  me,  jo. 

An'  I  was  but  a  young  thing, 
A  young  thing,  a  young  thing, 

An'  J  was  but  a  young  thing, 
Wi'^nane  to  pity  me,  jo. 

1  wat  the  kirk  was  in  the  wyte, 
In  the  wyte,  in  the  wyte, 

To  pit  a  young  thing  in  a  fright. 
An'  loose  a  man  on  me,  jo. 


0  CAN  ye  labour  lea,  young  man, 
An'  can  ye  labour  lea ; 

Gae  back  the  gate  ye  cam*  again, 
Ye'se  never  scorn  me. 

1  feed  a  man  at  Martinmas, 
Wi'  arle  pennies  three  ; 

An'  a'  the  faut  I  fan'  wi'  him, 
He  couldna  labour  lea. 

The  stibble  rig  is  easy  plough'd, 

The  fallow  land  is  free  ; 
But  wha  wad  keep  the  handless  coof, 

That  couldna  labour  lea  ? 


EPITAPH  ON  WILLIAM  NICOL, 


i6S 


Jenny  M  'Craw,  she  has  ta'en  to  the  heather, 
Say,  was  it  the  covenant  carried  her  thither  ; 
Jenny  M'Craw  to  the  mountains  is  gane, 
Their  leagues  and  their  covenants  a'  she  has  ta'en  ; 
My  head  and  my  heart,  now  quo'  she,  are  at  rest, 
And  as  for  the  lave,  let  the  Deil  do  his  best. 


The  last  braw  bridal  that  I  was  at, 

'Twas  on  a  Hallowmass  day, 
And  there  was  routh  o'  drink  and  fun, 

And  mickle  mirth  and  play. 
The  bells  they  rang,  and  the  carlins  sang, 

And  the  dames  danced  in  the  ha' ; 
The  bride  went  to  bed  wi'   the  silly 
bridegroom, 

In  the  midst  o'  her  kimmers  a'. 


O  Thou,  in  whom  we  live  and  move, 

Who  mad'st  the  sea  and  shore ; 
Thy  goodness  constantly  we  prove, 

And  grateful  would  adore. 
And  if  it  please  thee,  Pow'r  above> 

Still  grant  us  with  such  store ; 
The  friend  we  trust,  the  fair  we  love, 

And  we  desire  no  more. 


Lord,  we  thank  an'  thee  adore, 
For  temp'ral  gifts  we  little  merit ; 

At  present  we  will  ask  no  more, 
Let  William  Hyslop  give  the  spirit. 


There  came  a  piper  out  o'  Fife, 
I  watna  what  they  ca'd  him  ; 

He  play'd  our  cousin  Kate  a  spring, 
When  fient  a  body  bade  him. 

And  ay  the  mair  he  hotch'd  an'  blew. 
The  mair  that  she  forbade  him. 


The  black -headed  eagle, 

As  keen  as  a  beagle, 
He  hunted  o'er  height  and  owre  howe  ; 

But  fell  in  a  trap 

On  the  braes  o'  Gemappe, 
E'en  let  him  come  out  as  he  dowe. 


EPITAPH  ON  WILLIAM  NICOL. 

Ye  maggots  feast  on  Nicol's  brain, 
For  few  sic  feasts  ye've  gotten ; 

And  fix  your  claws  in  Nicol's  heart, 
For  de'il  a  bit  o'ts  rotten. 


ANSWER  TO   A   POETICAL  EPISTLE 


SENT  THE  AUTHOR    BY   A  TAILOR. 


What  ails  ye  now,  ye  lousie  bitch, 
To  thresh  my  back  at  sic  a  pitch? 
Losh,  man  !  hae  mercy  wi'  your  natch, 

Your  bodkin's  bauld, 
I  didna  suffer  ha'f  sae  much 

Frae  Daddie  Auld. 


What  tho'  at  times  when  I  grow  crouse, 
I  gi'e  their  wames  a  random  pouse, 
Is  that  enough  for  you  to  souse 

Your  servant  sae  ? 
Gae  mind  your  seam,  ye  prick-the-louse, 

An'  jag-the-flae. 


166 


EXTEMPORE  LINES. 


King  David  o'  poetic  brief, 

Wrought  'mang  the  lasses  such  mischief 

As  fill  d  his  after  life  wi'  grief 

An'  bloody  rants, 
An*  yet  he's  rank'd  amang  the  chief 

O'  lang-syne  saunls. 

And  maybe,  Tarn,  for  a'  my  cants, 
My  wicked  rhymes,  an*  drucken  rants, 
I'll  gie  auld  cloven  Clooty's  haunts 

♦An  unco  slip  yet, 
An*  snugly  sit  amang  the  saunts, 
At  I)avie's  hip  yet. 

But  fegs,  the  Session  says  I  maun 

Gae  fa  upo'  anither  plan, 

Than  garren  lasses  cowp  the  cran 

Clean  heels  owre  body, 
And  sairly  thole  their  mither's  ban 

Afore  the  howdy. 

This  leads  me  on,  to  tell  for  sport, 
How  I  did  wi'  the  Session  sort — 
Auld  Clinkum  at  the  Inner  port 

Cry'd  three  times,  *  Robin  ! 
Come  hither,  lad,  an*  answer  for't, 

Ye're  blam'd  for  jobhinV 

Wi*  pinch  I  put  a  Sunday's  face  on, 
An'  snoov'd  awa'  before  the  Session— 
I  made  an  open  fair  confession, 

I  scorn' d  to  lie ; 
An'  syne  Mess  John,  beyond  expression, 

Fell  foul  o'  me. 


A  furnicator-loun  he  call'd  me, 

An'  said  my  fau't  frae  bliss  expell'd  me  ; 

I  own'd  the  tale  was  true  he  tell'd  me 

'But  what  the  matter?' 
Quo'  I,  '  I  fear  unless  ye  geld  me, 

I'll  ne'er  be  better.' 

*  Geld  you ! '  quo'  he,  «  and  whatfore  no  ? 
If  that  your  right  hand,  leg  or  toe, 
Should  ever  prove  your  spiritual  foe, 

You  shou'd  remember 
To  cut  if  aff,  an*  whatfore  no 

Your  dearest  member  ? ' 

'Na,  na,'  quo'  I,  'I'm  no  for  that, 
Gelding's  nae  better  than  'tis  ca't, 
I'd  rather  suffer  for  my  faut, 

A  hearty  flewit, 
As  sair  owre  hip  as  ye  can  draw 't, 

Tho'  I  should  rue  it. 

'  Or  gin  ye  like  to  end  the  bother, 
To  please  us  a',  I've  just  ae  ither, 
When  next  wi'  yon  lass  I  forgather, 

Whate'er  betide  it, 
I'll  frankly  gi'e  her't  a'  thegither, 

An'  let  her  guide  it.' 

But,  Sir,  this  pleas'd  them  warst  ava, 
An'  therefore,  Tarn,  when  that  I  saw, 
I  said,  'Gude  night,'  and  cam  awa, 

And  left  the  Session; 
I  saw  they  were  resolved  a' 

On  my  oppression. 


EXTEMPORE  LINES, 


IN   ANSWER  TO  A  CARD  FROM   AN  INTIMATE  FRIEND  OF  BURNS,   WISHING  HIM 
TO  SPEND  AN  HOUR  AT  A  TAVERN. 

The  King's  most  humble  servant  I, 

Can  scarcely  spare  a  minute  ; 
But  I'll  be  wi  ye  by  an'  bye  ; 

Or  else  the  Deil's  be  in  it. 


My  bottle  is  my  holy  pool, 
That  heals  the  wounds  o*  care  an'  dool, 
And  pleasure  is  a  wanton  trout, 
An'  ye  drink  it,  ye'll  find  him  out 


THE  HEN-PECK  D  HUSBAND.  167 


LINES 

WRITTEN  EXTEMPORE  IN  A,  LADY'S  POCKET-BOOK.     [MISS  KENNEDY, 
SISTER-IN-LAW  OF  GAVIN  HAMILTON.} 

Grant  me,  indulgent  Heav'n,  that  I  may  live 
To  see  the  miscreants  feel  the  pains  they  give ; 
Deal  Freedom's  sacred  treasures  free  as  air, 
Till  slave  and  despot  be  but  things  which  were. 


THE  HENPECK'D  HUSBAND. 

Curs'd  be  the  man,  the  poorest  wretch  in  life, 
The  crouching  vassal  to  tne  tyrant  wife ! 
Who  has  no  will  but  by  her  high  permission  ; 
Who  has  not  sixpence  but  in  her  possession  ; 
Who  must  to  her  his  dear  friend's  secret  tell ; 
Who  dreads  a  curtain  lecture  worse  than  hell. 
Were  such  the  wife  had  fallen  to  my  part, 
I'd  break  her  spirit,  or  I'd  break  her  heart : 
I'd  charm  her  with  the  magic  of  a  switch, 
I'd  kiss  her  maids,  and  kick  the  perverse  bitch. 


EPITAPH  ON  A  HENPECK'D  COUNTRY  SQUIRE. 

As  father  Adam  first  was  fool'd, 
A  case  that's  still  too  common, 

Here  lies  a  man  a  woman  rul'd, 
The  Devil  rul'd  the  woman. 


EPIGRAM   ON   SAID   OCCASION. 


O  Death,  hadst  thou  but  spar'd  his  life 
Whom  we,  this  day,  lament ! 

We  freely  wad  exchang'd  the  wife, 
And  a  been  weel  content. 


Ev'n  as  he  is,  cauld  in  his  graff, 
The  swap  we  yet  will  do't ; 

Take  thou  the  carlin's  carcase  ttfi^ 
Thou'se  get  the  saul  o'  boot 


ANOTHER. 

One  Queen  Artemisia,  as  old  stories  tell, 
When  depriv'd  of  her  husband  she  loved  so  well* 
In  respect  for  the  love  and  affection  he'd  show'd  her, 
She  reduc'd  him  to  dust  and  she  drank  up  the  powder. 

But  Queen  Netherplace,  of  a  diff'rent  complexion, 
When  call'd  on  to  order  the  fun'ral  direction, 
Would  have  eat  her  dead  lord,  on  a  slender  pretence, 
Not  to  shew  her  respect,  but  —to  save  the  expense. 


i6S 


A  TOAST. 


VERSES 

WRITTEN  ON  A  WINDOW  OF  THE  INN  AT  CARRON. 


We  came  na  here  to  view  your  warks 

In  hopes  to  be  mair  wise, 
But  only,  lest  we  gang  to  hell, 

It  may  be  nae  surprise. 


But  when  we  tirl'd  at  your  door, 
Your  porter  dought  na  hear  us ; 

Sae  may,  shou'd  we  to  hell's  yetts  come, 
Your  billy  Satan  sair  us  ! 


LINES 

ON  BEING  ASKED  WHY  GOD  HAD  MADE  MISS  DAV1ES  SO  UTTLB 
AND  MRS.  *  *  *  SO  LARGE. 

Written  on  a  Pane -of 'Glass  in  the  Inn  at  Moffat 

Ask  why  God  made  the  gem  so  small, 

An*  why  so  huge  the  granite  ? 
Because  God  meant  mankind  should  set 

That  higher  value  on  it. 


EPIGRAM. 

WRITTEN  AT  INVERARY. 


Whoe'er  he  be  that  sojourns  here, 

I  pity  much  his  case, 
Unless  he  come  to  wait  upon  - 

The  Lord  their  God,  his  Grace. 


There's  naething  here  but  Highland 
pride, 

And  Highland  scab  and  hunger; 
If  Providence  has  sent  me  here, 

'Twas  surely  in  his  anger. 


A  TOAST. 

GJVEN   AT  A  MEETING  OF  THE  DUMFRIES-SHIRE  VOLUNTEERS,   HELD  TO  COMMEMORATE 
THE  ANNIVERSARY  OF  RODNEY'S  VICTORY,  APRIL  I2TH,   I782. 

Instead  of  a  Song,  boys,  I'll  give  you  a  Toast, — 
Here's  the  memory  of  those  on  the  twelfth  that  we  lost : 
That  we  lost,  did  I  say  ?  nay,  by  heav'n,  that  we  found, 
For  their  fame  it  shall  last  while  the  world  goes  round. 
The  next  in  succession,  I'll  give  you  the  King, 
Whoe'er  would  betray  him,  on  high  may  he  swing  ! 
And  here's  the  grand  fabric,  our  free  Constitution, 
As  built  on  the  base  of  the  great  Revolution  ; 
And  longer  with  Politics,  not  to  be  cramm'd, 
Be  Anarchy  curs'd,  and  be  Tyranny  damn'd  ; 
And  who  would  to  Liberty  e'er  prove  disloyal, 
May  his  son  be  a  hangman,  and  he  his  first  trial ! 


TO  J.  RAMKINE. 


169 


LINES 

SAID  TO  HAVE  BEEN   WRITTEN  BY  BURNS,   WHILE  ON  HIS  DEATH-BED,  TO  JOHN  RANKINB, 
AYRSHIRE,  AND  FORWARDED  TO  HIM"  IMMEDIATELY  AFTER  THE  POET'S  DECEASE. 

He  who  of  Rankine  sang,  lies  stiff  and  dead ; 
And  a  green  grassy  hillock  hides  his  head ; 
Alas  !  alas  !  a  devilish  change  indeed  ! 


VERSES  ADDRESSED  TO  Jf  RANKINE, 

.ON.  HIS  WRITING  TO  THE  POET,  THAT  A  GIRL  IN  THAT  PART  OF  THE  COUNTRY- 
WAS  WITH   CHILD  TO   HIM. 


I  am  a  keeper  of  the  law 

In  some  sma'  points,  altho'  not  a' ; 

Some  people  tell  me  gin  I  fa', 

1    Ae  way  or  ither, 
The  breaking  of  ae  point,  tho'  sma', 
Breaks  a'  thegither. 


I  hae  been  in  for't  ance  or  twice, 
And  winna  say  owre  far  for  thrice, 
Yet  never  met  with  that  surprise 

That  broke  my  rest. 
But  nOw  a  rumour's  like  to  rise, 

A  whaup's  i'  the  nest 


ON  SEEING  THE  BEAUTIFUL  SEAT  OF  LORD  GALLOWAY 

What  dost  thou  in  that  mansion  fair  ? 

Flit,  Galloway,  and  find 
Some  narrow,  dirty,  dungeon  cave, 

The  picture  of  thy  mind ! 


ON  THE  SAME. 

No  Stewart  art  thou,  Galloway, 
The  Stewarts  all  were  brave ; 

Besides,  the  Stewarts  were  but  fools, 
Not  one  of  them  a  knave. 


ON  THE  SAME. 


Bright  ran  thy  line,  O  Galloway, 
Thro'  many  a  far-fam'd  sire  ! 

So  ran  the  far-fam'd  Roman  way, 
So  ended  in  a  mire  ! 


TO  THE  SAME, 

ON  THE  AUTHOR  BEING   THREATENED  WITH  HIS  RESENTMENT 

Spare  me  thy  vengeance,  Galloway, 

In  quiet  let  me  live  : 
I  ask  no  kindness  at  thy  hand, 

For  thou  hast  none  to  give. 


i;o 


Off  A  SCHOOLMASTER. 


VERSES  TO  J.  RANKINE. 


Ae  day,  as  Death,  that  grusome  carl, 
Was  driving  to  the  tither  warl' 
A  mixtie-maxtie  motley  squad, 
And  monie  a  guilt-bespotted  lad  ; 
Black  gowns  of  each  denomination, 
And  thieves  of  every  rank  and  station, 
From  him  that  wears  the  star  and  garter, 
To  him  that  wintles  in  a  halter ; 
Asham'd  himsel  to  see  the  wretches,. 
He  mutters,  glowrin  at  the  bitches, 


*  By  God  I'll  not  be  seen  behint  them, 
Nor  'mang  the  sp'ritual  core  present 

them, 
Without  at  least,  ae  honest  man, 
To  grace  this  damn'd  infernal  clan.* 
By  Adamhill  a  glance  he  threw, 
'  Lord  God  ! '  quoth  he,  *  I  have  it  now, 
There's  just  the  man  I  want,  i'  faith,* 
And  quickly  stoppit  Rankine's  breath. 


EXTEMPORANEOUS  EFFUSION, 

ON  BEING  APPOINTED  TO  THE  EXCISE. 

Searching  auld  wives'  barrels, 

Och,  hon  !  the  day  ! 
That  clarty  barm  should  stain  my  laurels ; 

But— what'll  ye  say  ? 
These  movin'  things,  ca'd  wives  and  weans, 
Wad  inpve  the  very  hearts  o*  stanes ! 


ON  HEARING  THAT  THERE  WAS  FALSEHOOD  IN  THE 
REV.  DR.  B 'S  VERY  LOOKS. 

That  there  is  falsehood  in  his  looks 

I  must  and  will  deny ; 
They  say  their  master  is  a  knave — 

And  sure  they  do  not  lie. 


POVERTY. 

IN  politics  if  thou  wouldst  mix, 
And  mean  thy  fortunes  be  ; 

Bear  this  in  mind,— be  deaf  and  blind, 
Let  great  folks  hear  and  see. 


ON    A    SCHOOLMASTER 

IN  CLEISH   PARISH,   FIFESHIRE- 

HERE  lie  Willie  Michie's  banes  ; 

O  Satan,  when  ye  tak  him, 
Gie  him  the  schoolin'  of  your  weans, 

For  clever  deils  he'll  mak  them  ! 


EXTEMPORE  IN  THE  COURT  OF  SESSION. 


171 


LINES 


WRITTEN  AND  PRESENTED  TO  MKS.*KEMBLE,   ON  SEEING  HER  IN  THE  CHARACTER 
OF  VARICO  IN  THE  DUMFRIES  THEATRE,   I794. 


Kemble,  thou  cur'st  my  unbelief 

Of  Moses  and  his  rod  ; 
At  Yarico's  sweet  notes  of  grief 

The  rock  with  tears  had  flow'd. 


I  murder  hate  by  field  or  flood, 
Tho'  glory's  name  may  screen  us  ; 

In  wars  at  hame  I'll  spend  my  blood, 
Life-giving  war  of  Venus. 


LINES. 

The  deities  that  I  adore 
Are  social  Peace  and  Plenty, 

I'm  better  pleased  to  make  one  more, 
Than  be  the  death  of  twenty. 


LINES 

WRITTEN  ON  A  WINDOW,  AT  THE  KING'S  ARMS  TAVERN,  DUMFRIES. 

Ye  men  of  wit  and  wealth,  why  all  this  sneering 
'Gainst  poor  Excisemen  ?  give  the  cause  a  hearing ; 

What  are  your  landlords'  rent-rolls  ?  taxing  ledgers  : 
What  premiers,  what  ?  even  Monarchs'  mighty  gaugers  : 

Nay,  What  are  priests,  those  seeming  godly  wise  men  ? 
What  are  they,  pray,  but  spiritual  Excisemen  ? 


LINES 

WRITTEN  ON  THE  WTNDOW  OF  THE  GLOBE  TAVERN,  DUMFRIES. 

The  graybeard,  Old  Wisdom,  may  boast  of  his  treasures, 

Give  me  with  gay  Folly  to  live  : 
I  grant  him  his  calm-blooded,  time-settled  pleasures, 

But  Folly  has  raptures  to  give. 


EXTEMPORE  IN  THE  COURT  OF  SESSION. 

Tune—'  Killiccrankie.' 


LORD  ADVOCATE. 

He  clench'd  his  pamphlets  in  his  fist, 

He  quoted  and  he  hinted, 
Till  in  a  declamation-mist, 

His  argument  he  tint  it : 
He  gaped  for't,  he  graped  for't, 

He  fand  it  was  awa,  man  ; 
But  what  his  common  sense  came  short, 

He  eked  out  wi'  law,  man. 


MR.  erskine. 

Collected  Harry  .stood  awee, 

Then  open'd  out  his  arm,  man  ; 
His  lordship  sat  wi*  ruefu'  e'e, 

And  ey'd  the  gathering  storm,  man  i 
Like  wind-diiv'n  hail  it  did  assail, 

Or  torrents  owre  a  linn,  man  ; 
The  Bench  sae  wise,  lift  up  their  eyes, 

Half-wauken'd  wi'  the  din,  man. 


72  EPITAPH  OH  A  COUNTRY  LAIRD. 


LINES 

WRITTEN   UNDER  THE  PICTURE  OF  MISS  BURNS.     [SEE  PACE  473. J 

Cease,  ye  prudes,  your  envious  railing, 

Lovely  Burns  has  charms—confess  : 
True  it  is,  she  had  one  failing, 

Had  a  woman  ever  less  ? 

ON  MISS  J.  SCOTT,  OF  AYR. 

Oh  !  had  each  Scot  of  ancient  times 
Been,  Jeanie  Scott,  as  thou  art, 
The  bravest  heart  on  English  ground 
Had  yielded  like  a  coward. 

EPIGRAM  ON   CAPTAIN    FRANCIS  GROSE, 

THE  CELEBRATED  ANTIQUARY. 

The  Devil  got  notice  that  Grose  was  a-dying, 

So  whip  !  at  the  summons,  old  Satan  came  flying ; 

But  when  he  approach'd  where  poor  Francis  lay  moaning 

And  saw  each  bed-post  with  its  burden  a-groaning, 

Astonish'd  !  confounded  !  cry'd  Satan,  •  By  God, 

I'll  want  Mm,  ere  I  take  such  a  damnable  load.* 

EPIGRAM  ON  ELPHINSTONE'S  TRANSLATION  OF  MARTIAL'S 

EPIGRAMS. 

O  THOU  whom  Poetry  abhors, 
Whom  Prose  had  turned  out  of  doors, 
Heard'st  thou  yon  groan  ? — proceed  no  further, 
'Twas  laurel'd  Martial  calling  murther. 

EPITAPH   ON  A  COUNTRY  LAIRD, 

NOT  QUITE  SO  WISE  AS  SOLOMON. 

Bless  Jesus  Christ,  O  Cardoness, 

With  grateful  lifted  eyes, 
Who  said  that  not  the  soul  alone, 

But  body  too,  must  rise : 
For  had  he  said,  •  The  soul  alone 

From  death  I  will  deliver* 
Alas,  alas  !  O  Cardoness, 

Then  thou  hadst  slept  for  ever ! 


A  BARD'S  EPITAPJT.  173 


EPITAPH   ON  A  NOISY  POLEMIC. 


Below  thir  stanes  lie  Jamie's  banes  : 

O  Death,  it's  my  opinion, 
Thou  ne'er  took  such  a  bjeth'rin*  bitch 

Into  thy  dark  dominion  I 


EPITAPH  ON  WEE  JOHNNY. 

Hk.jacet  wee  Johnny. 

Whoe'er  thou  art,  O  reader,  know 
That  death  has  murder'd  Johnie  ! 

An'  here  his  body  lies  fu'  low — — 
For  saul  he  ne'er  had  ony. 

EPITAPH  ON  A. CELEBRATED  RULING  ELDER. 

Mere  souter  Hood  in  Death  does  sleep; 

To  Hell,  if  he's  gahe  thither, 
Satan,  gie  him  thy  gear  to  keep* 

He'll  hand  it  weel  themther. 


EPITAPH   FOR  ROBERT  AIKEN,  ESQ. 

Know  thou,  O  stranger  to  the  fame 
Of  this  much  lov'd,  much  honour'd  name, 
(For  none  that  knew  him  need  be  told) 
A  warmer  heart  death  ne'er  made  cold. 


EPITAPH    FOR  GAVIN   HAMILTON,  ESQ. 

The  poor  man  weeps — here  Gavin  sleeps, 
Whom  canting  wretches  blam'd  : 

But  with  such  as  he,  where'er  he  be, 
May  1  be  sav'd  or  damn'd  ! 


A    BARD'S    EPITAPH. 


Is  there  a  whim -inspired  fool, 

Owre  fast  for  thought,o\vre  hot  for  rule, 

Owre  blate  to  seek,  owre  proud  to  snool, 

Let  him  draw  near ; 
And  owre  this  grassy  heap  sing  dool, 

And  drap  a  tear. 


Is  there  a  Bard  of  rustic  song, 

Who,  noteless,  steals  the  crowds  aOTDng, 

That  weekly  this  area  throng, 

O,  pass  not  by  \ 
But,  with  a  frater- feeling  strong, 

Here,  heave  a  sigh. 


174 


EPITAPH  ON  A   WAG. 


Is  there  a  man  whose  judgment  clear, 

And  softer  flame, 

Can  others  teach  the  course  to  .steer, 

But  thoughtless  follies  laid  him  low, 

Vet  runs,  himself,  life's  mad  career, 

And  staia'd  his  name  ! 

Wild  as  the  wave  ; 

Here  pause — and,  thro*  the  starting  tear. 

Reader,  attend— whether  thy  soul 

Survey  this  grave. 

Soars  fancy's  flights  beyond  the  pole, 

Or  darkling  grubs  this  earthly  hole, 

The  poor  Inhabitant  below 

In  low  pursuit ; 

Was  quick  to  learn  and  wise  to  know, 

Know,  prudent,  cautious  self-control 

And  keenly  felt  the  friendly  glow, 

Is  wisdom's  root. 

EPITAPH   ON.  MY  FATHER. 

O  YE,  whose  cheek  the  tear  of  pity  stains, 
Draw  near  with  pious  rev'rence  and  attend  ! 

Here  lie  the  loving  husband's  dear  remains, 
The  tender  father,  and  the  gen  rous  friend. 

The  pitying  heart  that  felt  for  human  woe  ; 

The  dauntless  heart  that  fear'd  no  human  pride ; 
The  friend  of  man,  to  vice  alone  a  foe ; 

•  For  ev'n  his  failings  lean'd  to  virtue's  side.* 


EPITAPH   ON   JOHN    DOVE, 


INNKEEPER,  MAUCHLINE. 


Here  lies  Johnny  Pidgeon ; 

What  was  his  religion  ? 

Wha  e'er  desires  to  ken, 

To  some  other  warl' 

Maun  follow  the  carl, 

For  here  Johnny  Pidgeon  had  nane ! 


Strong  ale  was  ablution, — 
Small  beer  persecution, 
A  dram  was  memento  mori ; 
But  a  full  flowing  bowl 
Was  the  saving  his  soul, 
And  port  was  celestial  glory. 


EPITAPH   ON   JOHN   BUSHBY, 

WRITER,   IN   DUMFRIES. 

Here  lies  John  Bushby,  honest  man  ! 
Cheat  him,  Devil,  if  you  can. 


EPITAPH   ON  A  WAG  IN   MAUCHLINE. 


Lament  him,  Mauchline  husbands  a', 

He  aften  did  assist  ye  ; 
For  had  ye  staid  whole  weeks  awa, 

Your  wives  they  ne'er  had  miss'd  ye. 


Ye  Mauchline  bairns,  as  on  ye  pass 
To  school  in  bands  thegither, 

O  tread  ye  lightly  on  his  grass, 
Perhaps  he  was  your  father. 


GRACE  BEFORE  MEAT.  175 

EPITAPH  ON  A  PERSON  NICKNAMED  <THE  MARQUIS/ 

WHO  DESIRED  BURNS  TO  WRITE  ONE  ON  HIM. 

Here  lies  a  mock  Marquis  whose  titles  were  shamnVd, 
If  ever  he  rise,  it  will  be  to  be  damn'd. 

EPITAPH   ON   WALTER  R -[RIDDEL]. 

Sic  a  reptile  was  Wat, 

Sic  a  miscreant  slave, 
That  the  worms  ev'n  damn'd  him 

When  laid  in  his  grave. 

*  In  his  flesh  there's  a  famine,' 

A  starv'd  reptile  cries ; 

*  An*  his  heart  is  rank  poison/ 

Another  replies. 

ON  HIMSELF. 

Here  comes  Burns 

On  Rosinante ; 
She's  d poor, 

But  he's  d canty ! 

GRACE  BEFORE  MEAT, 

O  Lord,  when  hunger  pinches  sore, 

Do  thou  stand  us  in  need, 
And  send  us  from  thy  bounteous  store, 

A  tup  or  wether  head  !   Amen. 

ON  COMMISSARY  GOLDIE'S  BRAINS 

Lord,  to  account  who  dares  thee  call, 

Or  e'er  dispute  thy  pleasure  ? 
Else  why  within  so  thick  a  wall 

Enclose  so  poor  a  treasure  ? 

IMPROMPTU 

ON  AN  INNKEEPER  NAMED  BACON,  WHO  INTRUDED  HIMSELF  TNTO  ALL  COMPANIES. 

At  Brownhill  we  always  get  dainty  good  cheer, 
And  plenty  of  bacon  each  day  in  the  year ; 
We've  all  things  that's  nice,  and  mostly  in  season, 
But  why  always  Bacon — come,  give  me  a  reason  ? 

ADDRESSED  TO  A  LADY 

WHOM  THE  AUTHOR  FEARED  HE  HAD  OFFENDED. 


Rusticity's  ungainly  form 
May  cloud  the  highest  mind  ; 

But  when  the  heart  is  nobly  warm, 
The  good  excuse  will  find. 


Propriety's  cold  cautious  rules 
Warm  fervour  may  o'erlook 

But  spare  poor  sensibility 
The  ungentle,  harsh  rebuke. 


76  ON  MR.  M'MURDO. 


•  EPIGRAM. 

When ,  deceased,  to  the  devil  went  down, 

'Twas  nothing  would  serve  him  but  Satan's*  own  crown  ; 

*  Thy  fool's  head,'  quoth  Satan,  *  that  crown  shall  wear  never, 

I  grant  thou'rt  as  wicked,  but  not  quite  so  clever.* 


LINES  INSCRIBED  ON  A  PLATTER. 


^fy  blessings  on  ye,  honest  wife, 

I  ne'er  was  here  before  : 
Ye've  wealth  o'  gear  for  spoon  and 
knile — 

Heart  could  not  wish  for  more. 


TO 


Heaven  keep  you  clear  of  sturt  and 
strife, 

Till  far  ayont  four  score, 
And  by  the  Lord  o'  death  and  life, 

I'll  ne'er  gae  by  your  door ! 


Your  billet,  sir,  I  grant  receipt ; 

Wi'  you  I'll  canter  ony  gate, 

Though  'twere  a  trip  to  yon  blue  warP, 
VVhare  birkies  march  on  burning  marl : 
Then,  sir,  God  willing,  I'll  attend  ye, 
And  to  his  goodness  I  commend  ye. 

R.  Burns. 

ON   MR.  M'MURDO. 

Bl  EST  be  M  'Murdo  to  his  latest  day, 
'No  eovious  cloud  o'ercast  his  evening  ray  j 
No  wrinkle  furrow  d  by  tne  hand  of  care, 
Nor  even  sorrow  add  one  silver  hair ! 
Oh,  may  no  son  the  father's  honour  stain, 
Nor  ever  daughter  give  the  mother  pain. 

TO  A  LADY 

WHO  WAS  LOOKING  UP  THE  TEXT  DURING  SERMON. 

Fair  maid,  you  need  not  take  the  hint, 

Nor  idle  texts  pursue  : 
'Twas  guilty  sinners  that  he  meant — 

Not  angels  such  as  you  ! 


IMPROMPTU. 

How  daur  ye  ca'  me  howlet -faced, 
Ye  ugly,  glowering  spectre? 

My  face  was  but  the  keekin'  glass, 
An'  there  ye  saw  your  picture. 


TO  A  PAINTER, 


177 


TO   MR.  .MACKENZIE,  SURGEON,   MAUCHL1NE. 


FRIDAY  first 's  the  day  appointed 
By  the  Right  Worshipful  anointed, 

To  hold  our  grand  procession  ; 
To  get  a  blajd  o'  Johnie's  morals, 
And  taste  a  swatch  o'  Manson's  barrels 

I'  the  way  of  our  profession. 

The  Master  and  the  Brotherhood 
Would  a'  be  glad  to  see  you ; 


For  me  I  would  be  mair  than  proud 
To  share  the  mercies  wi'  you. 
If  Death,  then,  wi'  skaith,  then, 
Some  mortal  heart  is  hechtin', 
Inform  him,  and  storm  him, 
That  Saturday  you'll  fecht  him. 

Robert  Burns. 

Mossgiel*  Att.  M.  579a. 


TO  A  PAINTER, 


Dear ,  Til  gie  ye  some  advice 

You'll  tak  it  no  uncivil : 

You  shouldna  paint  at  angels  mair, 
But  try  and  paint  the  devil. 


To  paint  an  angel's  kittle  wark, 
Wi'  auld  Nick  there's  less  danger ; 

You'll  easy  draw  a  weel-kent  face, 
But  no  sae  weel  a  stranger. 


LINES  WRITTEN  ON  A  TUMBLER. 


You're  welcome,  Willie  Stewart ; 

You're  welcome,  Willie  Stewart ; 
There's  ne'er  a  flower  that  blooms  in 
May, 

That's  half  sae  welcome's  thou  art. 

Come,  bumpers  high,  express  your  joy, 
The  bowl  we  maun  renew  it ; 


The  tappit-hen,  gae  bring  iher  ben, 
To  welcome  Willie  Stewart. 

May  foes  be  Strang,   and   friends   be 
slack, 

Ilk  action  may  he  rue  it ; 
May  woman  on  him  turn  her  back, 

That  wrangs  thee,  Willie  Stewart  J 


ON   MR.  W.  CRUIKSHANK 

OF  THE  HIGH   SCHOOL,   EDINBURGH. 

Honest  Will  to  heaven  is  gane, 
And  mony  shall  lament  him ; 

His  faults  they  a*  in  Latin  lay, 
In  English  nane  e'er  kent  them. 


SONGS. 


THE  LASS  Q'  BALLOCHMVLE. 

Tune—'  Miss  Forbes's  Farewell  to  Banff,  or  Ettrick  Banks.* 


'Twas    even— the    dewy    fields    were 
green, 

On  every  blade  the  pearls  hang  ; 
The  Zephyrs  wan  ton' d  round  the  bean, 

And  bore  its  fragrant  sweets  alang : 
In  every  glen  the  Mavis  sang, 

All  nature  listening  seem'd  the  while : 
Except  where  green- wood  echoes  rang, 

Amang  the  braes  o'  Ballochmyle. 

With  careless  step  I  onward  stray'd, 

My  heart  rejoie'd  in  nature's  joy, 
When  musing  in  a  lonely  glade, 

A  maiden  fair  I  chane'd  to  spy ; 
Her  look  was  like  the  morning's  eye, 

Her  hair  like  nature's  vernal  smile, 
Perfection  whisper'd  passing  by, 

Behold  the  lass  o'  Ballochmyle  ! 

Fair  is  the  morn  in  flowery  May, 
And  sweet  is  night  in  Autumn  mild, 

When  roving  thro'  the  garden  gay, 
Or  wandering  in  a  lonely  wild  : 


But  Woman,  Nature's  darling  child  ! 

There  all  her  charms  she  does  compile; 
Ev'n  there  her  other  works  are  foil'd 

By  the  bonie  lass  d'  Ballochmyle. 

O,  had  she  been  a  country  maid, 

And  I  the  happy  country  swain, 
Tho'  shelter' d  in  the  lowest  shed  ' 

That  ever  rose  on  Scotland's  plain  ! 
Thro'  weary  winter's  wind  and  rain, 

With  joy,  with  rapture,  I  would  toil; 
And  nightly  to  my  bosom  strain 

The  bonie  lass  o'  Ballochmyle^ 

Then  pride  might  climb  the  slipp'ry  steep, 

Where  fame  and  honours  lofty  shine ; 
And  thirst  of  gold  might  tempt  the  deep, 

Or  downward  seek  the  Indian  mine  ; 
Give  me  the  cot  below  the  pine, 

To  tend  the  flocks  or  till  the  soil, 
And  every  day  have  joys  divine, 

With  the  bonie  lass  o'  Ballochmyle. 


SONG  OF  DEATH. 
A  GAELIC  AIR. 

Scene.—  A  field  of  battle.     Time  of  the  day— Evening.     The  wounded  and  dying  of  the 
victorious  artuy  are  supposed  to  jo  hi  in  the  song. 

Farewell,  thou  fair  day,  thou  green  earth,  and  ye  skies, 

Now  gay  with  the  broad  setting  sun  ! 
Farewell,  loves  and  friendships,  ye  dear,  tender  ties, 

Our  race  of  existence  is  run  ! 

Thou  grim  King  of  Terrbrs,  thou  life's  gloomy  foe, 

Go,  frighten  the  coward  and  slave  1 
Go,  teach  them  to  tremble,  fell  Tyrant  !  but  know. 

No  terrors  hast  thou  for  the  brave ! 


AULD  ROB  MORRIS. 


W 


Thou  strik'st  the  dull  peasant — he  sinks  in  the  dark, 

Nor  saves  e'en  the  wreck  of  a  name  : 
Thou  strik'st  the  young  hero — a  glorious  mark ! 

He  falls  in  the  blaze  of  his  fame ! 

In  the  field  of  proud  honour — our  swords  in  our  hands, 

Our  King  and  our  Country  to.  save — 
While  victory  shines  on  life's  last  ebbing  sands. 

O  1  who  would  not  die  with  the  brave  ! 


MY  AIN  KIND  DEARIE  O. 


When  o'er  tne  hill  the  eastern  star 

Tells  bughtin-time  is  near,  my  jo  ; 
And  owsen  frae  the  furrow'd  field 

Return  sae  dowf  and  wearie  O  ; 
Down  by  the  burn,  where  scented  birks 

W?  dew  are  hanging  clear,  my  jo, 
I'll  meet  thee  on  the  lea-rig, 

My  ain  kind  dearie  O. 

In  mirkest  glen,  at  midnight  hour, 
I'd  rove,  and  ne'er  be  eerie  O, 

If  thro*  that  glen  I  gaed  to  thee, 
My  ain  kind  dearie  O. 


Altho'  the  night  were  ne'er  sae  wild, 
And  I  were  ne'er  sae  wearie  O, 

I'd  meet  thee  on  the  lea-rig, 
My  ain  kind  dearie  O. 

The  hunter  lo'es  the  morning  sun, 

To  rouse  the  mountain  deer,  my  jo; 
At  noon  the  fisher  seeks  the  glen, 

Along  the  burn  to  steer,  my  jo  ; 
Gie  me  the  hour  o'  gloamin  grey, 

It  maks  my  heart  sae  cheery  O, 
To  meet  thee  on  the  lea-rig, 

My  ain  kind  dearie  O. 


AULD  ROB  MORRIS. 

There's  auld  Rob  Morris  that  wons  in  yon  glen, 
He's  the  king  o'  gude  fellows  ami  wale  of  auld  men  ; 
He  has  gowd  in  his  coffers,  he  has  owsen  and  kine, 
And  ae  bonie  lassie,  his  darling  and  mine. 

She's  fresh  as  the  morning,  the  fairest  in  May  ; 
She's  sweet  as  the  ev'ning  amang  the  new  hay  ; 
As  blythe  and  as  artless  as  the  lamb  on  the  lea, 
And  dear  to  my  heart  as  the  light  to  my  ee. 

But  oh  !  she's  an  heiress,  auld  Robin's  a  laird, 
And  my  daddie  has  nought  but  a  cot-house  and  yard  j 
A  wooer  like  me  maunna  hope  to  come  speed, 
The  wounds  I  must  hide  that  will  soon  be  my  dead. 

The  day  comes  to  me,  but  delight  brings  me  nane ; 
The  night  comes  to  me,  but  my  rest  it  is  gane  : 
I  wander  my  lane,  like  a  night-troubled  ghaist, 
And  I  sigh  as  my  heart  it  wad  burst  in  my  breast 

0  had  she  but  been  of  a  lower  degree, 

1  then  might  hae  hop'd  she  wad  smil'd  upon  me; 
O  how  past  descriving  had  then  been  my  bliss, 
As  now  my  distraction  no  words  can  express ! 

it* 


ISO 


DUNCAN  GRAY. 


NAEBODY. 

I  HAE  a  wife  o*  my  ain, 
I'll  partake  wi'  naebody ; 

I'll  tak  cuckold  frae  nane, 
I'll  gie  cuckold  to  naebody. 

I  hae  a  penny  to  spend, 
There — thanks  to  naebody  ; 

I  hae  naething  to  lend, 
I'll  borrow  frae  naebody. 

I  am  naebody's  lord, 
I'll  be  slave  to  naebody ; 

I  hae  a  guid  braid  sword, 
I'll  tak  dunts  frae  naebody, 

I'll  be  merry  and  free, 
I'll  be  sad  for  naebody ; 

If  naebody  care  for  me, 
I'll  care  for  naebody. 

MY  WIFE'S  A  WINSOME 
WEE  THING. 

She  is  a  winsome  wee  thing, 
She  is  a  handsome  wee  thing, 
She  is  a  bonie  wee  thing, 
This  sweet  wee  wife  o'  mine. 

I  never  saw  a  fairer, 

I  never  lo'ed  a  dearer, 

And  neist  my  heart  I'll  wear  her, 

For  fear  my  jewel  tine. 

She  is  a  winsome  wee  thing, 
She  is  a  handsome  wee  thing, 
She  is  a  bonie  wee  thing, 
This  sweet  wee  wife  o'  mine. 

The  warld's  wrack,  we  share  o't, 
The  warstle  and  the  care  o't ; 
Wi'  her  I'll  blythely  bear  it, 
And  think  my  lot  divine. 


DUNCAN  GRAY. 

Duncan  Gray  came  here  to  woo, 
Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't, 

On  blythe  yule  night  when  we  were  fou, 
Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't. 


Maggie  coost  her  head  fu'  high, 
Look'd  asklent  and  unco  skeigh, 
Gart  poor  Duncan  stand  abeigh; 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't. 

Duncan  fleech'd,  and  Duncan  pray'd  ; 

Ha,  ha,  &c. 
Meg  was  deaf  as  Ailsa  Craig, 

Ha,  ha,  &c. 
Duncan  sigh'd  baith  out  and  in, 
Grat  his  een  baith  bleer't  and  blin » 
Spak  o'  lowpin  o'er  a  linn  ; 

Ha,  ha,  &c 

Time  and  chance  are  but  a  tide, 

Ha,  ha,  &c. 
Slighted  love  is  sair  to  bide, 

Ha,  ha,  &c. 
Shall  I,  like  a  fool,  quoth  he, 
For  a  haughty  hizzie  die  ? 
She  may  gae  to — France  for  me  ! 

Ha,  ha,  &c. 

How  it  comes  let  doctois  tell, 

Ha,  ha,  &c. 
Meg  grew  sick — as  he  grew  well, 

Ha,  ha,  &c. 
Something  in  her  bosom  wrings, 
For  relief  a  sigh  she  brings  ; 
And  O,  her  een,  they  spak  sic  things  \ 

Ha,  ha,  &c. 

Duncan  was  a  lad  o'  grace, 

Ha,  ha,  &c. 
Maggie's  was  a  piteous  case, 

Ha,  ha,  &c. 
Duncan  couldna  be  her  death, 
Swelling  pity  smoor'd  his  wrath  j 
Now  they  're  crouse  and  cantie  baith ! 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't. 

O  POORTITH. 

Tune—'  /  had  a  Horse* 

O  poortith  cauld,and  restless  love, 

Ye  wreck  my  peace  between  ye ; 
Yet  poortith  a'  I  could  forgive, 
An'  'twerena  for  my  Jeanie. 
O  why  should  fate  sic  pleasure  have 
Life's  dearest  bands  untwining  9 
Or  why  sae  sweet  a  flower  as  love 
Depend  on  Fortune's  shining  ? 


OPEN  THE  DOOR  TO  ME,  Off/ 


1S1 


This  warld's  wealth  when  I  think  on, 
Its  pride,  and  a*  the  lave  o't ; 

Fie,  fie  on  silly  coward  man, 
That  he  should  be  the  slave  o't 
O  why,  &c. 

Her  een  sae  bonie  blue  betray 
How  she  repays  my  passion ; 

But  prudence  is  her  o'erword  aye, 
She  talks  of  rank  and  fashion. 
O  why,  &c. 

O  wha  can  prudence  think  upon. 

And  sic  a  lassie  by  him  ? 
O  wha  can  prudence  think  upon, 

And  sae  in  love  as  I  am  ? 
O  why,  &c. 

How  blest  the  humble  cotter's  fate  ! 

He  woos  his  simple  dearie  ; 
The  silly  bogles,  wealth  and  state, 
Can  never  make  them  eerie. 
O  why  should  fate  sic  pleasure  have, 
Life's  dearest  bands  untwining  ? 
Or  why  sae  sweet  a  flower  as  love 
Depend  on  Fortune's  shining  ? 


GALLA  WATER. 

There's  braw  braw  lads  on  Yarrow 
braes, 
That    wander    thro*    the    blooming 
heather ; 
But  Yarrow  braes  nor  Ettrick  shaws 
Can  match  the  lads  o'  Galla  Water. 

But  there  is  ane,  a  secret  ane, 
Aboon  them  a'  I  lo'e  him  better  ; 

And  I'll  be  hisr  and  he'll  be  mine, 
The  bonie  lad  o'  Galla  Water. 


Altho'  his  daddie  was  nae  laird, 
And  tho'  I  hae  nae  meikle  tocher ; 

Yet  rich  in  kindest,  truest  love, 
We'll  tent  our  flocks  by  Galla  Water. 

It  ne'er  was  wealth,  it  ne'er  was  wealth, 
That  coft  contentment,  peace  or  plea- 
sure ; 
The  bands  and  bliss  o'  mutual  love, 

0  that's  the  chiefest  warld's  treasure ! 

LORD  GREGORY. 

O  mirk,  mirk  is  this  midnight  hour, 
And  loud  the  tempest's  roar  ; 

A  waefu'  wanderer  seeks  thy  tow'r, 
Lord  Gregory,  ope  thy  door. 

An  exile  frae  her  father's  ha\ 

And  a'  for  loving  thee  ; 
At  least  some  pity  on  me  shaw, 

If  love  it  mayna  be. 

Lord  Gregory,  mind'st  thou  not  the  grove, 

By  bonie  Irwine  side, 
Where  first  I  own'd  that  virgin-love, 

1  lang,  lang  had  denied  ? 

How  aften  didst  thou  pledge  and  vow, 
Thou  wad  for  aye  be  mine  ! 

And  my  fond  heart,  itsel  sae  true, 
It  ne'er  mistrusted  thine. 

Hard  is  thy  heart,  Lord  Gregory, 

And  flinty  is  thy  breast : 
Thou  dart  of  heaven  that  flashest  by, 

O  wilt  thou  give  me  rest ! 

Ye  mustering  thunders  from  above, 

Your  willing  victim  see  ! 
But  spare,  and  pardon  my  fause  love, 

His  wrangs  to  heaven  and  me ! 


OPEN  THE  DOOR  TO  ME,  OH  ! 

WITH  ALTERATIONS. 


Oh,  open  the  door,  some  pity  to  shew, 

Oh,  open  the  door  to  me,  Oh  ! 
Tho*  thou  hast  been  false,  I'll  ever  prove  true, 

Oh,  open  the  doer  to  me,  Oh  \ 


182  JESSIE. 


Cauld  is  the  blast  upon  my  pale  cheek. 

But  caulrtcr  thy  love  for  me,  Oh  ! 
The  frost  that  freezes  the  life  at  my  heart, 

Is  nought  to  my  pains  frae  thee,  Oh  ! 

The  wan  moon  is  setting  behind  the  white  wave, 

And  time  is  setting  with  me,  Oh  ! 
False  friends,  false  love,  farewell !  for  mair 

I'll  ne'er  trouble  them,  nor  thee,  Oh  ! 

She  has  open'd  the  door,  she  has  openM  it  wide ; 

She  sees  his  pale  corse  on  the  plain,  Oh  ! 
My  true  love,  she  cried,  and  sank  down  by  his  side, 

Never  to  rise  again,  Oh  ! 


MEG  0>  THE  MILL. 

Air—1  O,  bonie  Lass,  will  yon  Ue.in  a  Barrack* 

O  ken  ye  what  Meg  o'  the  Mill  has  gotten, 
An'  ken  ye  what  Meg  o*  the  Mill  has'gotten  ? 
She  has  gotten  a  coof.-wi*  a  claut  o'  siller, 
And  broken  the  heart  o'  the  barley  Miller. 

The  Miller  was  strappin,  the  Miller  was  ruddy; 
A  heart  like  a  lord,  and  a  hue  like  a  lady ; 
The  Laird  was  a  widdiefu',  bleerit  knurl ; 
She's  left  the  guid  fellow  and  ta'en  the  churl. 

The  Miller  he  hecht  her  a  heart  leal  and  loving  ; 
The  Laird  did  address  her  wi'  matter  mair  moving, 
A  fine  pacing  horse  wf  a  clear  chained  bridle, 
A  whip  by  her  side,  and  a  bonie  side-saddle. 

O  wae  on  the  siller,  it  is  sae  prevailing ; 
And  wae  on  the  love  that  is  fix'd  on  a  mailen! 
A  tocher's  nae  word  in  a  true  lover's  parle, 
But,  gie  me  my  love,  and  a  fig  for  the  warl  I 


JESSIE. 

*Tune— %  Bonie  Dundee.* 

True  hearted  was  he,  the  sad  swain  o'  the  Yarrow, 

And  fair  are  the  maids  on  the  banks  o*  the  Ayr, 
But  by  the  sweet  side  o'  the  Nith's  winding  river, 

Are  lovers  as  faithful,  and  maidens  as  fair  : 
To  equal  young  Jessie  seek  Scotland  all  over ; 

To  equal  young  Jessie  you  seek  it  in  vain  ; 
Grace,  beauty,  and  elegance,  fetter. her  lover, 

And  maidenly  modesty  fixes  the  chain. 


LOGAN  BRAES. 


183 


O,  fresh  is  the  rose  in  the  gay,  dewy  morning, 

And  sweet  is  the  lily  at  evening  close  ; 
But  In  the  fair  presence  o'  lovely  young  Jessie, 

Unseen  is  the  lily,  unheeded  the  rose. 
Love  sits  in  her  smile,  a  wizard  ensnaring  ; 

Enthron'd  in  her  een  he  delivers  his  law  : 
And  still  to  her  charms  she  alone  is  a  stranger ! 

Her  modest  demeanour's  the  jewel  of  a'. 

WANDERING  WILLIE. 

Here  awa,  there  awa,  wandering  Willie, 
Here  awa,  there  awa,  haud  awa  hame ; 

Come  to  my  bosom,  my  *ain  only  dearie, 
Tell  me  thou  bring'st  me  my  Willie  the  same. 

Winter  winds  blew  loud  and  cauld  at  our  parting, 
Fears  for  my  Willie  brought  tears  in  my  ee  ; 

Welcome  now  simmer,  and  welcome  my  Willie, 
The  simmer  to  nature,  my  Willie  to  me  ! 

Rest,  ye  wild  storms,  in  the  cave  of  your  slumbers ; 

How  your  dread  howling  a  lover  alarms  ! 
Wauken,  ye  breezes,  row  gently,  ye  billows, 

And  waft  my  dear  laddie  ance  mair  to  my  arms. 

But  oh,  if  he's  faithless,  and  minds  na  his  Nannie, 
Flow  still  between  us,  thou  wide-roaring  main  ; 

May  I  never  see  it,  may  I  never  trow  it, 
But,  dying,  believe  that  my  Willie 's  my  am. 


LOGAN    BRAES. 

Tune— 'Logan  Water.* 


O  Logan,  sweetly  didst  thou  glide 
That  day  I  was  my  Willie's  bride  ; 
And  years  sinsyne  hae  o'er  us  run, 
Like  Logan  to  the  simmer  sun. 
But  now  thy  fiow'ry  banks  appear 
Like  drumlie  winter,  dark  and  drear, 
While  my  dear  lad  maun  face  his  faes, 
Far,  far  frae  me  and  Logan  Braes. 

Again  the  merry  month  o*  May 
Has  made  our  hills  and  valleys  gay ; 
The  birds  rejoice  in  leafy  bowers* 
The  bees   hum    round   the   breathing 

flowers; 
Blithe  morning  liits  his  rosy  eye, 
And  evening's  tears  are  tears  of  joy  : 
My  soul,  delightless,  a'  surveys, 
While  Willie's  far  frae  Logan  Braes. 


Within  yon  milk-white  hawthorn  bush, 
Amang  her  nestlings,  sits  the  thrush  ; 
Her  faithfu'  mate  will  share  her  toil, 
Or  wi'  his  song  her  cares  beguile : 
But  I .  wi'  my  sweet  nurslings  here, 
Nae  mate  to  help,  nae  mate  to  cheer, 
Pass  widow'd  nights  and  joyless  days, 
While  Willie's  far  frae  Logan  Braes. 


O  wae  upon  you,  men  o'  state, 
That  brethren  rouse  to  deadly  hate  ! 
As  ye  mak  monie  a  fond  heart  mourn, 
Sae  may  it  on  your  heads  return  ! 
How  can  your  flinty  hearts  enjoy 
The  Widow's  tears,  the  orphan's  cry  ? 
But  soon  may  peace  bring  happy  days, 
And  Willie  hame  to  Logan  Braes  I 


:«4 


PHILLIS  THE  FAIR. 


THERE  WAS  A  LASS. 
Tune— *  Bonie  Jean.* 

There  was  a  lass,  and  she  was  fair, 
At  kirk  and  market  to  be  seen, 

When  a'  the  fairest  maids  were  met, 
The  fairest  maid  was  bonie  Jean. 

And  ay  she  wrought  her  mammie's  wark, 
And  ay  she  sang  sae  merrily : 

The  blythest  bird  upon  the  bush 
Had  ne'er  a  lighter  heart  than  she. 

But  hawks  will  rob  the  tender  joys 
That  bless  the  little  lintwhite's  nest ; 

And  frost  will  blight  the  fairest  flowers, 
And  love  will  break  the  soundest  rest. 

Young  Robie  was  the.  brawest  lad, 
The  flower  and  pride  of  a'  the  glen  ; 

And  lit  had  owsen,  sheep  and  kye, 
And  wanton  naigies  nine  or  ten. 

He  gaed  wi'  Jeanie  to  the  tryste, 
He  danc'd  wi*  Jeanie  on  the  down  ; 

And  lang  ere  witless  Jeanie  wist, 
Her  heart  was  tint,  her  peace  was 
stown. 

As  in  the  bosom  o*  the  stream 
The  moon-beam  dwells  at  dewy  e'en ; 

So  trembling,  pure,  was  tender  love, 
Within  the  breast  o'  bonie  Jean. 

And  now  she  works  her  mammie's  wark, 
And  aye  she  sighs  wi*  care  and  pain ; 

Yet  wistna  what  her  nil  might  be, 
Or  what  wad  mak  her  weel  again. 

But  didna  Jeanie's  heart  loup  light, 
And  didna  joy  blink  in  her  ee, 

As  Robie  tauld  a  tale  o'  love, 
Ae  e'enin  on  the  lily  lea  ? 

The  sun  was  sinking  in  the  west, 
The  birds  sang  sweet  in  ilka  grove ; 

His  cheek  to  hers  he  fondly  prest, 
And  whisper'd  thus  his  tale  o'  love  : 

O  Jeanie  fair.  I  lo'e  thee  dear  ; 

O  canst  thou  think  to  fancy  me  ? 
Or  wilt  thou  leave  thy  mammie's  cot, 

And  learn  to  tent  the  farms  wi'  me  ? 


At  barn  or  byre  thou  shaltna  drudge, 
Or  naething  else  to  trouble  thee ; 

But  stray  amang  the  heather-bells, 
And  tent  the  waving  corn  wi'  me. 

Now  what  could  artless  Jeanie  do  ? 

She  had  nae  will  to  say  him  na  : 
At  length  she  blush'i!  a  sweet  consent, 

And  love  was  ay  between  them  twa. 

PHILLIS  THE  FAIR. 

Tune — '  Robin  Adair.1 

While  larks  with  little  wing 

Fann'd  the  pure  air, 
Tasting  the  breathing  spring, 

Forth  I  did  fare : 
Gay  the  sun's  golden  eye 
Peep'd  o'er  the  mountains  high  ; 
Such  thy  morn  !  did  I  cry, 

Phillis  the  fair. 

In  each  bird's  careless  song 

Glad  did  I  share  ; 
While  yon  wild  flowers  among, 
-  Chance  led  me  there  : 
Sweet  to  the  opening  day, 
Rosebuds  bent  the  dewy  spray ; 
Such  thy  bloom  !  did  I  say, 

f  hillis  the  fair. 

Down  in  a  shady  walk, 

Doves  cooing  were, 
I  mark'd  the  cruel  hawk 

Caught  in  a  snare  : 
So  kind  may  Fortune  be, 
Such  make  his  destiny, 
He  who  would  injure  thee, 

Phillis  the  fair. 

BY  ALLAN  STREAM. 

Tune—'  Allan  Water.* 

By  Allan  stream  I  chane'd  to  rove, 

While  Phcebus  sank  beyond  Benleddi ; 
The  winds  were  whispering  thro'  the 
grove, 

The  yellow  corn  was  waving  ready  : 
I  listen'd  to  a  lover's  sang, 

And  thought  on   youthfu'  pleasures 
monie ; 
And  ay  the  wild  wood  echoes  ran^— • 

O,  dearly  do  I  loye  thee,  Annie  { 


WHISTLE,  AND  I'LL  COME  TO  YOU,  MY  LAD. 


1 8c 


O,  happy  be  the  woodbine  bower, 

Nae  nightly  bcgle  mak  it  eerie ; 
Nor  ever  sorrow  stain  the  hour, 

The  place  and  time  I  met  my  dearie ! 
Her  head  upon  my  throbbing  breast, 

She,  sinking,  said  ' I'm  thine  forever!' 
While  monie  a  kiss  the  seal  imprest, 

The  sacred  vow,  we  ne'er  should  sever. 


The  haunt  o'  spring's  the  primrose  brae, 

The  simmer  joys  the  flocks  to  follow ; 
How  cheery  thro'  her  shortening  day 

Is  autumn,  in  her  weeds  o'  yellow  ! 
But  can  they  melt  the  glowing  heart, 

Or  chain  the  soul  in  speechless  pleasure, 
Or,  thro'  each  nerve  the  rapture  dart, 

Like  meeting  her,  our  bosom's  treasure? 


HAD    I   A    CAVE. 

Tune—' Rcbin  Adair* 

Had  I  a  cave  on  some  wild,  distant  shore, 
Where  the  winds  howl  to  the  waves'  dashing  roar ; 

There  would  I  weep  my  woes, 

There  seek  my  lost  repose, 

Till  grief  my  eyes  should  close, 
Ne'er  to  wake  more. 

Falsest  of  womankind,  canst  thou  declare 
All  thy  fond  plighted  vows— fleeting  as  air? 

To  thy  new  lover  hie, 

Laugh  o'er  thy  perjury, 

Then  in  thy  bosom  try, 
What  peace  is  there  ! 


WHISTLE,  AND  I'LL  COME  TO  YOU,  MY  LAD 

Tune—'  My  Jo,  Janet: 

O  whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad  ; 
O  whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad  : 
Tho'  father  and  mither  and  a'  should  gae  mad, 
O  whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad. 

But  warily  tent,  when  ye  come  to  court  me, 
And  come  tta  unless  the  back-yett  be  a-jee  ; 
Syne  up  the  back-stile,  and  let  naebody  see, 
And  come  as  ye  were  na  comin  to  me. 
And  come,  &c. 

O  whistle,  &c. 

At  kirk,  or  at  market,  whene'er  ye  meet  me, 
Gang  by  me  as  tho'  that  ye  car'd  na  a  flie  : 
But  steal  me  a  blink  o'  your  bonie  black  ee, 
Yet  look  as  ye  were  na  lookin  at  me 
Yet  look,  &c. 

O  whistle,  &c. 

Ay  vow  and  protest  that  ye  care  na  for  me, 
And  whiles  ye  may  lightly  my  beauty  a  wee ; 
But  court  na  anither,  tho*  jokin  ye  be, 
For  fear  that  she  wyle  your  fancy  frae  me. 
For  fear,  &c. 

O  whistle,  &c. 


iS6 


WILT  THOU  BE  MV  DEARIE* 


HUSBAND,  HUSBAND,  CEASE 
YOUR  STRIFE. 

Tune— *  My  Jot  Janet* 

Husband,  husband,  cease  your  strife, 
Nor  longer. idly  rave,  sir  ; 

Tho'  I  am  your  wedded  wife, 
Yet  I  am  not  your  slave,  sir. 

'  One  of  two  must  still  obey, 

Nancy,  Nancy ; 
Is  it  man  or  woman,  say, 

My  spouse,  Nancy?' 

If  'tis  still  the  lordly  word, 

Service  and  obedience ; 
I'll  desert  my  sov'reign  lord, 

And  so  good-bye  allegiance  ! 

'  Sad  will  I  be,  so  bereft, 

Nancy,  Nancy ! 
Yet  I'll  try  to  make  a  shift, 

My  spouse,  Nancy.' 

My  poor  heart  then  break  it  must, 
My  last  hour  I'm  near  it : 

When  you  lay  me  in  the  dust, 
Think,  think  how  you  will  bear  it. 

'  I  will  hope  and  trust  in  Heaven, 

Nancy,  Nancy; 
Strength  to  bear  it  will  be  given, 

My  spouse,  Nancy.' 

Well,  sir,  from  the  silent  dead 
Still  I'll  try  to  daunt  you  ; 

Ever  round  your  midnight  bed 
Horrid  sprites  shall  haunt  you.j 

*  I'll  wed  another,  like  my  dear 

Nancy,  Nancy ; 
Then  all  hell  will  fly  for  fear, 

My  spouse,  Nancy.' 


DELUDED  SWAIN. 
Tune—'  The  Colliers  Dochter: 

Deluded  swain,  the  pleasure 
The  fickle  Fair  can  give  thee, 

Is  but  a  fairy  treasure, 
Thy  hopes  will  soon  deceive  thee. 


The  billows  on  the  ocean, 
The  breezes  idly  roaming, 

The  clouds'  uncertain  motion, 
They  are  but  types  of  woman. 

0  !  art  thou  not  ashamed 
To  doat  upon  a  feature  ? 

If  man  thou  wouldst  be  named, 
Despise  the  silly  Creature. 

Go,  find  an  honest  fellow  ; 

Good  claret  set  before  thee : 
Hold  on  till  thou  art  mellow, 

And  then  to  bed  in  glory. 

SONG. 

Tune—'  The  Quakers  Wife? 

Thine  am  I,  my  faithful  fair, 
Thine,  my  lovely  Nancy  ; 

Ev'ry  pulse  along  my  veins, 
Ev'ry  roving  fancy. 

To  thy  bosom  lay  my  heart, 
There  to  throb  and  languish  : 

Tho'  despair  had  wrung  its  core, 
That  would  heal  its  anguish. 

Take  away  these  rosy  lips, 
Rich  with  balmy  treasure  i 

Turn  away  thine  eyes  of  love, 
Lest  I  die  with  pleasure  ! 

What  is  life  when  wanting  love  ? 

Night  without  a  morning  ! 
Love's  the  cloudless  summer  sun, 

Nature  gay  adorning. 

WILT  THOU  BE  MY  DEARIE? 

A   NEW  SCOTS  SONG. 

Tune—'  The  Sitter's  Dochter. 

Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie  ? 

When  sorrow  wrings  thy  gentle  heart, 

Wilt  thou  let  me  cheer  thee  ? 

By  the  treasure  of  my  soul, 

That's  the  love  I  bear  thee  ! 

1  swear  and  vow  that  only  thou 
Shalt  ever  be  my  dearie — 
Only  thou,  I  swear  and  vow, 
Shalt  ever  be  my  dearie. 


HARK  I  THE  MA  VIS. 


187 


Lassie,  say  thou  lo'es  me  ; 
Or  if  thou  wilt  na  be  my  ain, 
Say  na  thou'lt  refuse  me  : 
If  it  winna,  canna  be, 
Thou  for  thine  may  choose  me, 
Let  me,  lassie,  quickly  die, 
Trusting  that  thou  lo'es  me — 
Lassie,  let  me  quickly  die, 
Trusting  that  thou  lo'es  me. 

BANKS  OF  CREE. 
Tune—*  The  Flowers  of  Edinburgh.* 

Here  is  the  glen,  and  here  the  bower, 
All  underneath  the  birchen  shade  ; 

The  village-bell  has  toll'd  the  hour, 
O  what  can  stay  my  lovely  maid  ? 

'Tis  not  Maria's  whispering  call ; 

'Tis  but  the  balmy  breathing  gale, 
Mixt  with  some  warbler's  dying  fall, 

The  dewy  star  of  eve  to  hail. 

It  is  Maria's  voice  I  hear  \ 

So  calls  the  woodlark  in  the  grove 
His  little  faithful  mate  to  cheer, 

At  once  'tis  music — and  'tis  Jove. 

And  art  thou  come  ?  and  art  thou  true  ? 

O  welcome,  dear,  to  love  and  me  ! 
And  let  us  all  our  vows  renew, 

Along  the  flow'ry  banks  of  Cree. 

ON  THE  SEAS  AND  FAR 
AWAY. 

Tune—'  O'er  the  Hills  and  Jar  away* 

How  can  my  poor  heart  be  glad, 
When  absent  from  my  Sailor  lad  ? 
How  can  I  the  thought  forego, 
He's  on  the  seas  to  meet  the  foe  ? 
Let  me  wander,  let  me  rove, 
Still  my  heart  is  with  my  love ; 
Nightly  dreams  and  thoughts  by  day 
Are  with  him  that's  far  away. 

CHORUS. 

On  the  seas  and  far  away, 
On  stormy  seas  and  far  away ; 
Nightly  dreams  and  thoughts  by  day 
Are  aye  with  him  that's  far  away. 


When  in  summer's  noon  I  faint, 
As  weary  flocks  around  me  pant, 
Haply  in  this  scorching  sun 
My  Sailor's  thund'ring,  at  his  gun : 
Bullets,  spare  my  only  joy  ! 
Bullets,  spare  my  darling  boy  ! 
Fate,  do  with  me  what  you  may, 
Spare  but  him  that's  far  away  ! 
On  the  seas,  &c. 

At  the  starless  midnight  hour, 

When    winter    rules    with    boundless 

power; 
As  the  storms  the  forest  tear, 
And  thunders  rend  the  howling  air, 
Listening  to  the  doubling  roar, 
Surging  on  the  rocky  shore, 
All  I  can — I  weep  and  pray, 
For  his  weal  that's  far  away. 
On  the  seas,  &c. 

Peace,  thy  olive  wand  extend, 
And  bid  wild  War  his  ravage  end, 
Man  with  brother  man  to  meet, 
And  as  a  brother  kindly  greet  : 
Then  may  heaven  with  prosp'rous  gales 
Fill  my  Sailor's  welcome  sails, 
To  my  arms  their  charge  convey, 
My  dear  lad  that's  far  away.  _ 
On  the  seas,  &c 


HARK!  THE  MAVIS. 

Tune—'  Ca*  the  Yowes  to  the  Knowes* 

CHORUS. 

Ca'  the  yowes  to  the  knowes, 
Ca'  them  where  the  heather  grows, 
Ca'  them  where  the  burnie  rows, 
My  boriie  dearie. 

Hark  !  the  mavis'  evening  sang 
Sounding  Clouden's  woods  amang, 
Then  a  faulding  let  us  gang, 
My  bonie  dearie. 
Ca'  the,  &c. 

We'll  gae  down  by  Clouden  side, 
Thro'  the  hazels  spreading  wide, 
O'er  the  waves  that  sweetly  glide 
To  the  moon  sae  clearly. 
Ca'  the,  &c. 


iSS 


HOW  LANG  AND  DREARY. 


Yonder  Clouden's  silent  towers, 
Where  at  moonshine  midnight  hours, 
O'er  the  dewy-bending  flowers, 
Fairies  dance  sae  cheery. 
Ca*  the,  &c. 

Ghaist  nor  bogle  shalt  thou  fear ; 
Thou'rt  to  love  and  Heaven  sae  dear, 
Nocht  of  ill  may  come  thee  near, 
My  bonie  dearie. 
Ca'  the,  &c. 

Fair  and  lovely  as  thou  art, 
Thou  hast  stown  my  very  heart ; 
I  can  die — but  canna  part, 
My  bonie  dearie. 
Ca'  the,  &c. 

While  waters  wimple  to  the  sea ; 
While  day  blinks  in  the  lift  sae  hie ; 
Till  clay-cauld  death  shall  blin'  my  ee, 
Ye  shall  be  my  dearie. 
Ca'  the,  &c. 

SHE  SAYS  SHE  LO'ES  ME 

BEST  OF  A'. 

Tune—*  Qnagh's  Water-fall.' 

Sae  flaxen  were  her  ringlets, 

Her  eyebrows  of  a  darker  hue, 
Bewitchingly  o'erarching 

Twa  laughing  een  o'  bonie  blue. 
Her  smiling,  sae  wyling, 

Wad  make  a  wretch  forget  his  woe  ; 
What  pleasure,  what  treasure, 

Unto  these  rosy  lips  to  grow  ! 
Such  was  my  Chloris'  bonie  face, 

When  first  her  bonie  face  I  saw, 
And  aye  my  Chloris'  dearest  charm, 

She  says  she  lo'es  me  best  of  a'. 

Like  harmony  her  motion  ; 

Her  pretty  ancle  is  a  spy 
Betraying  fair  proportion, 

Wad  make  a  saint  forget  the  sky  ; 
Sae  warming,  sae  charming, 

Her  faultless  form  and  gracefu'  air ; 
Ilk  feature — auld  Nature 

Declar'd  that  she  could  do  nae  mair : 
Hers  are  the  willing  chains  o'  love, 

By  conquering  beauty's  sovereign  law ; 
/Vnd  aye  my  Chloris'  dearest  charm, 

£he  say^fshe  lo'es  me  best  of  a' 


Let  others  love  the  city, 

And  gaudy  show  at  sunny  noon  ; 
Gie  me  the  lonely  valley, 

The  dewy  eve,  and  rising  moon 
Fair  beaming,  and  streaming 

Her  silver  light  the  boughs  amang  ; 
While  falling,  recalling, 

The  amorous   thrush   concludes  his. 
sang  : 
There,  dearest  Chloris,  wilt  thou  rove 

By  wimpling  burn  and  leafy  shaw, 
And  hear  my  vows  o'  truth  and  love* 

And  say  thou  lo'es  me  best  of  a'  ? 

HOW  LANG  AND  DREARY. 

Tune — '  Cauld  Kail  in  Aberdee?i.' 

How  lang  and  dreary  is  the  night, 
When  1  am  frae  my  dearie  ; 

I  restless  lie  frae  e'en  to  morn, 
Tho'  I  were  ne'er  sae  weary. 

CHORUS. 

For  oh,  her  lanely  nights  are  lang ; 

And  oh,  her  dreams  are  eerie ; 
And  oh,  her  widow'd  heart  is  sair, 

That's  absent  frae  her  dearie. 

When  I  think  on  the  lightsome  days 
1  spent  wi'  thee,  my  dearie, 

And  now  that  seas  between  us  roar, 
How  can  I  be  but  eerie  ! 
For  oh,  &c. 

How  slow  ye  move,  ye  heavy  hours  ; 

The  joyless  day  how  drearie  ! 
It  wasna  sae  ye  glinted  by, 

When  I  was  wi'  my  dearie. 
For  oh,  &c. 


THE  LOVER'S  MORNING 
SALUTE  TO   HIS   MISTRESS. 
Tune— *  Deil  iak  the  Wars: 
Sleep'st  thou,  or  wak'st  thou,  fairest 
creature  ? 
Rosy  morn  how  lifts  his  eye, 
Numbering  ilka  bud  which  Nature 
Waters  wi'  the  tears  o'  joy  : 
Now  thro'  the  leafy  woods, 
And  by  the  reeking  floods, 


FAREWELL,   THOU  STREAM. 


189 


\ViJd   Natwe's   tenants  freely,  gladly 
stray ; 
The  lintwhite  in  his  bower 
Chants  o'er  the  breathing  flower; 
The  lav'rock  to  the  sky 
Ascends  wi*  sangs  o'  joy, 
While  the  sun  and  thou  arise  to  bless 
the  day. 

Phoebus,  gilding  the  brow  o'  morning, 
Banishes  ilk  darksome  shade, 

Nature  gladdening  and  adorning ; 
Such  to  me  my  lovely  maid. 
When  absent  frae  my  fair, 
The  murky  shades  o  care 

With  starless  gloom  o'ercast  my  sullen 
sky: 
But  when,  in  beauty's  light, 
She  meets  my  ravish'd  sight, 
When  thro'  my  very  heart 
Her  beaming  glories  dart — - 

'Tis  then  I  wake  toiife,  to  light,  and  joy. 


LASSIE  WF  THE  LINT-WHITE 
LOCKS. 

Tun  e—  '  Rothiemurchus's  Rant. ' 

CHORUS. 

Lassie  wi'  the  lint-white  locks, 
Bonie  lassie,  artless  lassie, 

Wilt  thou  wi'  me  tent  the  flocks  T 
Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie  O  ? 

Kow  nature  deeds  the  flowery  lea, 
And  a'  is  young  and  sweet  like  thee  ; 
O  wilt  thou  share  its  joys  wi'  rne, 
And  say  thou'lt  be  my  dearie  O  ? 
Lassie  wi',  &c 

And  when  the  welcome  simmer- shower 
lias  cheer'd  ilk  drooping  little  flower, 
We'll  to  the  breathing  woodbine  bower 
At  sultry  noon,  my  dearie  O. 
Lassie  wi',  &c. 

When  Cynthia  lights,  wi'  silver  ray, 
The  weary  shearer's  hamewafd  way, 
Thro'  yellow  waving  fields  we'll  stray, 
And  talk  o"  love,  my  dearie  O, 
Lassie  wi\  &c. 


And  when  the  hpwling  wintry  blast 
Disturbs  my  lassie's  midnight  rest ; 
Enclasped  to  my  faithfu'  breast, 
I'll  comfort  thee,  my  dearie  O. 
Lassie  wi'  the  lint-white  locks, 

Bonie  lassie,  artless  lassie, 
Wilt  thou  wi'  me  tent  the  flocks  ? 
Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie  O  ? 


THE  AULD  MAN. 
Tune—*  The  Death  of  the  Linnet* 

But  lately  seen  in  gladsome  green 

The  woods  rejoic'd  the  day, 
Thro*    gentle    showers    the   laughing 
flowers 

In  double  pride  were  gay  : 
But  now  our  joys  are  fled, 

On  winter  blasts  awa  ! 
Yet  maiden  May,  in  rich  array, 

Again  shall  bring  them  a*. 

But  my  white  pow,  nae  kindly  thowe 

Shall  melt  the  snaws  of  age  ; 
My  trunk  of  eild,  but  buss  or  bield, 

Sinks  in  time's  wintry  rage. 
Oh,  age  has  weary  days, 

And  nights  o'  sleepless  pain  ! 
Thou  golden  time  o'  youthfu*  prime, 

Why  com'st  thou  not  again  ? 


FAREWELL,  THOU  STREAM. 

•Tune— 'Nancy's  to  the  Greenwood  gane. 

Farewell,  thou  stream  that  winding 
flows 

Around  Eliza's  dwelling  ! 
O  Mem'ry  !  spare  the  cruel  throes 

Within  my  bosom  swelling  : 
Condemn'd  to  drag  a  hopeless  chain, 

And  yet  in  secret  languish, 
To  feel  a  fire  in  ev'ry  vein, 

Nor  dare  disclose  my  anguish. 

Love's  veriest  wretch,  unseen,  unknown, 
I  fain  'my  griefs  would  cover  : 

The  bursting  sigh,  th'  unweeting  groan, 
Betray  the  hapless  lover. 


/ 


!9o 


CONTENTED  Wf  LITTLE. 


I  know  thou  doom'st  me  to  despair, 
N.or  wilt  nor  canst  relieve  me ; 

But  oh,  Eliza,  hear  one  prayer, 
For  pity's  sake  forgive  me  ! 

The  music  of  thy  voice  I  heard, 
Nor  wist  while  it  enslaved  me; 


I  saw  thine  eyes,  yet  nothing  fear'd, 
Till  fears  no  more  had  savd  me  : 

Th'  unwary  sailor  thus  aghast, 
The  wheeling  torrent  viewing, 

'Mid  circling  horrors  sinks  at  last 
In  overwhelming  ruin. 


CONTENTED  WI'  LITTLE. 
Tune- -.'  Lumps  d pudding? 

Contented  wi'  little,  and  cantie  wi'  mair,- 
Whene'er  I  forgather  wi'  sorrow  and  care, 
I  gie  them  a  skelp  as  they're  creepin'  alang, 
Wi'  a  cog  o'  gude  swats,  and  an  auld  Scottish  sang. 

Iwhyles  claw  the  elbow  o'  troublesome  thought; 
But  man  is  a  soger,  and  life  is  a  faught : 
My  mirth  and  gude  humour  are  coin  in  my  pouch, 
And  my  freedom's  my  lairdship  nae  monarch  dare  touch. 

A  towmond  o'  trouble,  should  that  be  my  fa', 
A  night  o'  gude  fellowship  sowthers  it  a' ; 
When  at  the  blythe  end  of  our  journey  at  last, 
Wha  the  deil  ever  thinks  o'  the  road  he  has  past  ? 

Blind  Chance,  let  her  snapper  and  stoyte  on  her  way, 
Be't  to  me,  be't  frae  me,  e  en  let  the  jad  gae  : 
Come  ease,  or  come  travail ;  come  pleasure  or  pain, 
My  warst  word  is — '  Welcome,  and  welcome  again  I  * 


MY  NANNIE'S  AWA. 

Tune-8-'  There'll  never  be  peace  till  Jamie  comes  name' 

Now  in  her  green  mantle  blythe  Nature  arrays, 
And  listens  the  lambkins  that  bleat  o'er  the  braes, 
While  birds  warble  welcomes  in  ilka  green  shaw  ; 
But  to  me  it's  delightless — my  Nannie 's  awa. 

The  snaw-drap  and  primrose  our  woodlands  adorn, 
And  violets  bathe  in  the  weet  o'  the  morn  : 
They  pain  my  sad  bosom,  sae  sweetly  they  blaw, 
They  mind  me  o'  Nannie— my  Nannie's  awa. 

Thou  laverock  that  springs  frae  the  dews  o'  the  lawn, 
The  shepherd  to  warn  o'  the  grey-breaking  dawn, 
And  thou,  mellow  mavis,  that  hails  the  night-fa', 
Gie  over  for  pity — my  Nannie's  awa. 

Come  autumn  sac  pensive,  in  yellow  and  grey, 
And  soothe  me  wi'  tidings  o'  nature's  decay  ; 
The  dark,  dreary  winter,  and  wild-driving  snaw, 
Alane  can  delight  me— now  Nannie  *s  awa. 


O  LASSIE,  ART  THOU  SLEEPING  YET? 


IQI 


SWEET  FA'S  THE  EVE. 
Tune—-'  Craigieburti-wood* 

Sweet  fa's  the  eve  on  Craigie-burn, 
And  blythe  awakes  the  morrow, 

But  a*  the  pride  o'  spring's  return 
Can  yield  me  nocht  but  sorrow. 

I  see  the  flowers  and  spreading  trees, 
I  hear  the  wild  birds  singing  ; 

But  what  a  weary  wight  can  please, 
And  care  his  bosom  wringing  ? 

Fain,  fain  would  I  my  griefs  impart, 
Yet  dare  na  for  your  anger  ; 

But  secret  love  will  break  my  heart, 
If  I  conceal  it  latiger. 

If  thou  refuse  to  pity  me, 

If  thoii  shalt  love  anither, 
When  yon  green  leaves  fa'  frae  the  tree, 

Around  my  grave  they'll  wither. 


•0    LASSIE,     ART    THOU 

SLEEPING  YET  ? 

Tune — '  Let  me  in  this  ae  night* 

O  Lassie,  art  thou  sleeping  yet  ? 
Or  art  thou  wakin,  I  would  wit  ? 
For  love  has  bound  me  hand  and  foot, 
And  I  would  fain  be  in,  jo. 

CHORUS. 

O  let  me  in  this  ae  night, 
This  ae,  ae,  ae  night ; 

For  pity's  sake  this  ae  night, 
O  rise  And  let  me  in,  jo. 


Thou,  hear'st  the  winter  wind  and  weet, 
Nae  star  blinks  thro'  the  driving  sleet ; 
Tak  pity  on  mjr  weary  feet, 
And  shield  me  frae  the  rain,  jo. 
O  let  me  in,  &c. 

The  bitter  blast  that  round  me  blaws, 
Unheeded  howls,  unheeded  fa's  ; 
The  cauldness  o'  thy  heart's  the  cause 
Of  a'  my  grief  and  pain,  jo. 

0  let  me  in,  &c 

HER  ANSWER. 

O  tell  na  me  o'  wind  and  rain, 
Upbraid  na  me  wi'  cauld  disdain  ! 
Gae  back  the  'gait  ye  cam  again, 
I  winna  let  you  in,  jo. 

CHORUS. 

I  tell  you  now  this  ae  night, 

This  ae,  ae,  ae  night ; 
And  ance  for  a'  this  ae  night, 

1  winna  let  you  in,  jo. 

The  snellest  blast,  at  mirkest  hours, 
That  round  the.  pathless  wand'rer  pours, 
Is  nocht  to  what  poor  she  endures, 
That's  trusted,  faith  less  man,  jo. 
I  tell  you  now,  &c. 

The  sweetest  flower  that  deck'd  the  mead, 
Now  trodden  like  the  vilest  weed ; 
Let  simple  maid  the  lesson  read, 
The  weird  may  be  her  ain,  jo. 
I  tell  you  now,  &c. 

The  bird  that  charm'd  his  summer-day. 
Is  now  the  cruel  fowler's  prey  ; 
Let  witless,  trusting  woman  say 
How  aft  her  fate 's  the  same,  jo.. 
I  tell  you  now,  «&c 


SONG. 
Tune—'  Hutnours  of  glen? 

Their  groves  o'  sweet  myrtles  let  foreign  lands  reckon, 
Where  bright-beaming  summers  exalt  the  perfume ; 

Far  dearer  to  me  yon  lone  glen  o'  green  breckan, 
Wi'  the  burn  stealing  under  the  lang  yellow  broom. 

Far  dearer  to  me  are  yon  humble  broom  bowers, 
Where  the  blue-bell  and  gowan  lurk  lowly  unseen  : 

For  there,  lightly  tripping  amang  the  wild  flowers, 
A  listening,  the  linnet,  aft  wanders  my  Jean. 


102 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  W00DLARK. 


Tho'  rich  is  the  breeze  in  their  gay  sunny  valleys, 
And  cauld  Caledonia's  blast  on  the  wave  ; 

Their  sweet-scented  woodlands  that  skirt  the  proud  palace, 
What  are  they  ?    The  haunt  of  the  tyrant  and  slave  ! 

The  slave's  spicy  forests,  and  gold -bubbling  fountains, 

The  brave  Caledonian  views  wi'  disdain  ; 
He  wanders  as  free  as  the  winds  of  his  mountains, 

Save  love's  willing- fetters,  the  chains  o'  his  Jean. 


'TWAS  NA  HER  BONIE  BLUE  EE. 
Tune—'  Laddie,  lie  near  me,* 

Twas  na  her  bonie  blue  ee  was  my  ruin  ; 
Fair  tho'  she  be,  that  was  ne'er  my  undoing  ; 
'Twas  the  dear  smile  when  naebody  did  mind  us, 
'Twas  the  bewitching,  sweet,  stown  glance  o1  kindness. 

Sair  do  I  fear  that  to  hope  is  denied  me, 
Sair  do  I  fear  that  despair  maun  abide  me  l 
But  tho*  fell  fortune  should  fate  us  to  sever, 
Queen  shall  she  be  in  my  bosom  for  ever. 

Chloris,  I'm  thine  wi'  a  passion  sincerest, 
And  thou  hast  plighted  me  love  o'  the  dearest ! 
And  thou'rt  the  angel  that  never  can  alter, 
Sooner  the  sun  in  his  motion  would  falter. 


ADDRESS     TO     THE     WOOD- 
LARK. 

Tune— *  IV/iere'll  ionie  Ann  lie* 

Ostay,  sweet  warbling  woodlark,  stay, 
Nor  quit  for  me  the  trembling  spray, 
A  hapless  lover  courts  thy  lay, 
Thy  soothing  fond  complaining. 

Again,  again  that  tender  part, 
That  I  may  catch  thy  melting  art ; 
For  surely  that  wad  touch  her  heart, 
Wha  kills  me  wi'  disdaining. 

Say,  was  thy  little  mate  unkind, 
And  heard  thee  as  the  careless  wind  ? 
Oh,  nocht  but  love  and  sorrow  join'd 
Sic  notes  o'  wae  could  wauken. 

Thou  tells  o'  never-ending  care  ; 
O'  speechless  grief,  and  dark  despair  ; 
-For  pity's  sake,  sweet  bird,  nae  majr  ! 
Or  my  poor  heart  is  broken  \ 


HOW  CRUEL  ARE  THE 
PARENTS. 

Tune— '  John  Anderson  my  'jfo* 

How  cruel  are  the  parents 

Who  riches  only  prize, 
And  to  the  wealthy  booby 

Poor  woman  sacrifice. 
Meanwhile  the  hapless  daughter 

Has  but  a  choice  of  strife  ; 
To  shun  a  tyrant  father's  hate, 

Become  a  wretched  wife. 


The  ravening  hawk  pursuing, 

The  trembling  dove  thus  Hies, 
To  shun  impelling  ruin 

A  while  her  pinions  tries  ; 
Till  of  escape  despairing, 

No.  shelter  or  retreat, 
She  trusts  the  ruthless  falconer, 

And  drops  beneath  his  feel. 


FORLORN,  MY  LOVE. 


W 


MARK  YONDER  POMP. 

Tune — '  Deil  iak  the  wars* 

MARK  yonder  pomp  of  costly  fashion, 
Round  the  wealthy,  titled  bride  : 

But  when  compar'd  with  real  passion, 
Poor  is  ail  that  princely  pride. 
What  are  their  showy  treasures  ? 
What  are  their  noisy  pleasures  ? 
The  gay,  gaudy  glare  of  vanity  and  art : 
The  polkh'd  jewel's  blaze 
May  draw  the  wond'ring  gaze, 
And  courtly  grandeur  bright 
The  fancy  may  delight, 
But  never,  never  can  come  near  the 
heart. 

But  did  you  see  my  dearest  Chloris, 
In  simplicity's  array; 

Lovely  as  yonder  sweet  opening  flower 

.is>. 
Shrinking  from  the  gaze  of  day. 

O  then,  the  heart  alarming, 

And  all  resistless  charming, 

In  Love's  delightful  fetters  she  chains 
the  willing  soul ! 
Ambition  would  disown 
The  world's  imperial  crown  ; 
Even  Avarice  would  deny 
His  worshipp'd  deity, 

And  feel  thro'  every  vein  Love's  rap- 
tures roll. 


I  SEE  A  FORM,  I  SEE  A  FACE. 

Tune — '  This  is  no  7iiy  ain  house.* 

O  Tins  is  no  my  ain  lassie, 

Fair  tho'  the  lassie  be  ; 
O  weel  ken  I  my  ain  lassie, 

Kind  love  is  in  her  ee. 

I  see  a  form,  I  see  a  face, 
Ye  weel  may  wi'  the  fairest  place 
It  wants,  to  me,  the  witching  grace, 
The  kind  love  that's  in  her  ee. 
O  this  is  no,  &c. 

She's  "bottle,  blooming,  straight,  and  tall, 
And  lartg  has  had  my  heart  in  thrall  ; 
And  aye  it  charms  my  very  saul, 
The  kind  love  that's  in  her  ee. 
O  this  is  noi  &c. 


A  thief  sae  pawkie  is  my  Jean, 
To  steal  a  blink,  by  a'  unseen ; 
But  gleg  as  light  are  lovers'  een, 
When  kind  love  is  in  the  ee. 
O  this  is  no,  &c. 

It  may  escape  the  courtly  sparks, 
It  may  escape  the  learned  clerks  ; 
But  weel  the  watching  lover  marks 
The  kind  love  that's  in  her  ee. 
O  this  is  no,  &c. 


O  BONIE  WAS  YON  ROSY  BRIER. 

Tune—'/  wisii  My  love  was  in  a  tnireS 

O  bonie  was  yon  rosy  brier, 

That  blooms  sae  fair  frae  haunt  o'  man ; 
And  bonie  she,  and  ah,  how  dear  ! 

It  shaded  frae.  the  e'enin  sun. 

Yon  rosebuds  in  the  morning  dew, 
How  pure  amang  the  leaves  sae  green; 

But  purer  was  the  lover's  vow 
They  witness'd  in  their  shade  yestreen. 

All  in  its  rude  and  prickly  bower, 
That  crimson  rose,  how  sweet  and  fair! 

But  love  is  far  a  sweeter  flower 
Amid  life's  thorny  path  o'  care. 

The  pathless  wild,  and  wimpling  burn, 
Wi'  Chloris  in  my  arms,  be  mine  ; 

And  I,  the  world,  nor  wish,  nor  scorn, 
Its  joys  and  griefs  alike  resign. 


FORLORN,  MY  LOVE. 

Tune—'  Let  me  in  this  ae  night.' 

Forlorn,  my  love,  no  comfort  near, 
Far,  far  from  thee,  I  wander  here  ; 
Far,  far  from  thee,  the  fate  severe 
At  which  I  most  repine,  love. 

CHORUS. 

O  wert  thou,  love,  but  near  me, 
But  near,  near,  near  me  ; 
How  kindly  thouAvouldst  cheer  me, 
And  mingle  sighs  with  mine,  love 


194 


LAST  MAY  A  BRA  W  WOOER. 


Around  me  scowls  a  wintry  sky, 
That  blasts  each'  bud  of  hope  and  joy ; 
And  shelter,  shade,  nor  home  have  I, 
Save  in  those  arms  of  thine,  love. 
O  wert,  &r- 


Cold,  alter'd  friendship's  cruel  part, 
To  poison  fortune's  ruthless  dart — 


Let  me  not  break  thy  faithful  heart, 
And  say  that  fate  is  mine,  love. 
O  wert,  &c. 

But  dreary  tho'  the  moments  fleet, 
O  let  me  think  we  yet  shall  meet ! 
That  only  ray  of  solace  sweet 
Can  on  thy  Chlor-is  shine,  love. 
O  wert,  &c. 


LAST  MAY  A  BRAW  WOOER. 

Tune—'  Lotfuan  Lassie* 

Last  May  a  braw  wooer  cam  down  the  lang  glen, 

And  sair  wi'  his  love  he  did  deave  me : 
I  said  there  was  naething  I  hated  like  men, 

The  deuce  gae  wi'm  to  believe  me,  believe  me, 

The  deuce  gae  wi'm  to  believe  me. 

He  spak  o*  the  darts  in  my  bonie  black  een, 

And  vowM  for  my  love  he  was  dying ; 
I  said  he  might  die  when  he  liked  for  Jean : 

The  Lord  forgie  me  for  lying,  for  lying, 

The  Lord  forgie  me  for  lying  ! 

A  weel-stocked  mailen,  himsel  for  the  laird, 
And  marriage  aff-hand,  were  his  proffers  : 

1  never  loot  on  that  1  kend  it,  or  car'd ; 

But  thought  I  might  hae  wain  offers,  waur  offers, 
But  thought  I  might  hae  waur  offers. 

But  what  wad  ye  think  ?  in  a  fortnight  or  less, 

The  deil  tak  his  taste  to  gae  near  her  ! 
He  up  the  lang  loan  to  my  black  cousin  Bess, 

Guess  ye  how,  the  jad !   I  could  bear  her,  could  bear  her, 

Guess  ye  how,  the  jad  !  I  could  bear  her. 

But  a*  the  niest  week  as  I  fretted  wi'  care, 

I  gaed  to  the  tryste  o'  Dalgarnock, 
And  wha  but  my  fine  fickle  lover  was  there, 

I  glowr'd  as  I'd  seen  a  warlock,,  a  warlock, 

I  glowr'd  as  I'd  seen  a  warlock.    * 

But  owre  my  left  shouther  I  gae  him  a  blink, 

Lest  neebors  might  say  I  was  saucy  ; 
My  wooer  he  caper'd  as  he'd  been  in  drink, 

And  vow'd  I  was  his  dear  lassie,  dear  lassie, 

And  vow'd  I  was  his  dear  lassie 


ALTHO%  THOU  MAUN  NEVER  BE  MINE.  i$§ 

I  spiei^d  for  my  cousin  fu'  couthy  and  sweet, 

Gin  she  had  recover'd  her  hearin, 
And  how  her  new  shoon  fit  her  auld  shachl't  feet— 

But,  heavens  !  how  he  fell  a  swearin,  a  swearin, 

But,  heavens  !  how  he  fell  a  swearin. 

He  begged,  for  Gudesake  !  I  Wad  be  his  wife, 

Or  else  I  wad  kill  him  wi*  sorrow  : 
So  e'en  to  preserve  the  poor  body  in  life, 

I  think  I  maun  wed  him  to-morrow,  to-morrow, 

I  think  I  maun  wed  him  to-morrow. 


HEY  FOR  A  LASS  Wr  A  TOCHER. 

Tune—'  Balinamonaora; 

Awa  wi'  your  witchcraft  o'  beauty's  alarms, 
The  slender  bit  beauty  you  grasp  in  your  arms  : 
O,  gie  me  the  lass  that  has  acres  o'  charms, 
O,  gie  me  the  lass  wi'  the  weel-stockit  farms. 

•   CHORUS. 

Then  hey,  for  a  lass  wi'  a  tocher,  then  hey,  for  a  lass 

wi*  a  tocher, 
Then  hey,  for  a  lass  wi*'  a  tocher;   the  nice  yellow 

guineas  for  me. 

Your  beauty's  a  flower  in  the. morning  that  blows, 
And  withers  the  faster,  the  faster  it  grows ; 
But  the  rapturous  charm  o'  the  bonie  green  knowes, 
Ilk  spring  they're  new  deckit  wi'  bonie  white  yowes. 
Then  hey,  &c. 

And  e'en  when  this  beauty  your  bosom  has  blest, 
The  brightest  o'  beauty  may  cloy,  when  possest  i 
But  the  sweet  yellow  darlings  wi'  Geordie  imprest, 
The  langer  ye  hae  them— the  mair  they're  carest. 
Then  hey,  &c. 


ALTHO'  THOU  MAUN  NEVER  BE  MINE. 
Tune—' Here's  a  health  to  them  thafs  awa,  Hiney.* 

CHORUS. 

Here's  a  health  to  ane  I  lo'e  dear, 

Here's  a  health  to  ane  I  lo'e  dear ; 

Thou  art  as  sweet  as  the  smile  when  fond  lovers  meet, 

And  soft  as  their  parting  tear— Jessy  I 

03 


196 


THE  YOUNG  HTGHLAhW  ROVER. 


Altho'  thou  maun  never  be  mine, 

Altho'  even  hope  is  denied  ; 
'Tis  sweeter  for  thee  despairing, 

Than  aught  in  the  world  beside— Jessv  J 
Here's  a  health,  &c. 

I  mourn  thro'  the  gay,  gaudy  day, 
As,  hopeless,  I  muse  on  thy  charms  : 

But  welcome  the  dream  o'  sweet  slumber, 
For  then  I  am  lockt  in  thy  arms— Jessy ! 
Here's  a  health,  &c. 

I  guess  by  the  dear  angel  smile, 
I  guess  by  the  love-rolling  ee; 

But  why  urge  the  tender  confession 
'Gainst  fortune's  fell  cruel  decree— Jessy  \ 
Here's  a  health,  &c. 


THE  BlfcKS  OF  ABERFELDY. 

CHORUS. 

Bonie  lassie,  will  ye  go,  will  ye  go, 

will  ye  go, 
Bonie  l&ssie,  will  ye  go  to  the  Birks  of 

Aberfeldy  ? 

Now  simmer  blinks  on  flowery  braes, 
And  o'er  the  crystal  streamlet  plays, 
Come  let  us  spend  the  lightsome  days 
In  the  Birks  of  Aberfeldy. 
Bonie  lassie,  &c. 

While  o'er  their  heads  the-  hazels  hing, 

The  little  bifdies  blythly  sing, 

Or  lightly  flit  on  wanton  wing 

In  the  Birks  of  Aberfeldy. 

Bonie  lassie,  &c. 

The  braes  ascend  like  lofty  wa's, 
The  foaming  stream  deep  roaring  fa's, 
O'erhung  wi'.fragrant  spreading  shaws, 
The  Birks  of  Aberfeldy. 
Bonie  lassie,  &c. 

The  hoary  cliffs  are  crown'd  wi'  flowers, 
White  o'er  the  linns  the  burnie  pours, 
And  rising,  weets  wi'  misty  showers 
The  Birks  of  Aberfeldy. 
Bonie  lassie,  &c. 


Let  fortune's  gifts  at  random  flee, 
They  ne'er  shall  draw  a  wish-frae  me, 
Supremely  blest  wi'  love  and  thee, 
In  the  Birks  of  Aberfeldy. 
Bonie  lassie,  &c. 


THE     YOUNG    HIGHLAND 
ROVER. 

Tune-*'  Morag? 

Loud  blaw  the  frosty  breezes, 

The  snavvs  the  mountains  cover ; 
Like  winter  on  me  seizes, 

Since  my  young  Highland  Rover 

Far  wanders  nations  over. 
Where'er  he  go,  where'er  he  stray, 

May  Heaven  be  his  warden  : 
Return  him  safe  to  fair  Strathspey, 

And  bonie  Castle-Gordon ! 

The  trees  now  naked  groaning, 
Shall  soon  wi'  leaves  be  hinging, 

The  birdies  dowie  moaning, 
Shall  a'  be  blythely  singing, 
And  every  flower  be  springing, 

Sae  I'll  rejoice  the  lee-lang  day, 
When  by  his  mighty  warden 

My  youth's  refurn'd  to  fair  Strathspey, 
And  bonie  Castle-Gordon, 


MUSING  ON  THE  ROARING  OCEAN 


197 


STAY,  MY  CHARMER. 

Tune—'  An gille  dubh  ciar dhubh* 

Stay,  my  charmer,  can  you  leave  me  ? 
Cruel,  cruel  to  deceive  me  ! 
Well  you  know  how  much  you  grieve 
me  ; 

Cruel  charmer,  can  you  go  ? 

Cruel  charmer,  can  you  go  ? 

By  my  love  so  ill  requited  ; 

By  the  faith  you  fondly  plighted  ; 

By  the  pangs  of  lovers  slighted  ; 

Do  not,  do  not  leave  me  so  ! 

Do  not,  do  not  leave  me  so  ! 


FULL  WELL  THOU  KNOW'ST. 

Tun e— '  R othiemurchus's  ran t. ' 

CHORUS. 

Fairest  maid  on  Devon  banks, 
Crystal  Devon,  winding  Devon, 

Wilt  thou  lay  that  frown  aside, 
And  smile  as  thou  wert  wont  to  do  ? 

Full  well  thou  know'st  I  love  thee  dear, 
Couldst  thou  to  malice  lend  an  ear  ? 
O,  did  not  love  exclaim,  "  Forbear, 
Nor  use  a  faithful  lover  so  ? " 
Fairest  maid,  &c. 

Then  come,  thou  fairest  of  the  fair, 
Those  wonted  smiles,  O,  let  me  share  ; 
And  by  thy  beauteous  self  I  swear, 
No  love  but  thine  my  heart  shall 
know. 

Fairest  maid,  &c* 


STRATHALLAN'S  LAMENT. 

Thickest  night,  o'erhangmy  dwelling  ! 

Howling  tempests,  o'er  me  rave  ! 
Turbid  torrents,  wintry  swelling, 

Still  surround  my  lonely  cave  ! 

Crystal  streamlets  gently  flowing, 
Busy  haunts  of  base  mankind, 

Western  breezes  softly  blowing, 
Suit  not  my  distracted  mind, 


In  the  cause  of  right  engag'd, 
Wrongs  injurious  to  redress, 

Honour's  war  we  strongly  wag'd, 
But  the  heavens  deny'd  success. 

Ruin's  wheel  has  driven  o'er  us, 
Not  a  hope  that  dare  attend  ; 

The  wide  world  is  all  before  us— 
But  a  world  without  a  friend  ! 

RAVING  WINDS  AROUND  HER 
BLOWING. 

Tune—' M'Gregor  of  Rnara's  lament. 

Raving  winds  around  her  blowing, 
Yellow  leaves  the  woodlands  strowing, 
By  a  river  hoarsely  roaring, 
Isabella  stray' d  deploring  : 
"  Farewell,  hours  that  late  did  measure 
Sunshine  days  of  joy  and  pleasure  ; 
Hail,  thou  gloomy  night  of  sorrow, 
Cheerless  night  that  knows  no  morrow  f 

"  O'er  the  past  too  fondly  wandering, 
On  the  hopeless  future  pondering  ; 
Chilly  grief  my  life-blood  freezes, 
Fell  despair  my  fancy  seizes. 
Life,  truou  soul  of  every  blessing, 
Load  to  misery  most  distressing, 
O,  how  gladly  I'd  resign  thee, 
And  to  dark  oblivion  join  thee ! " 

MUSING  ON  THE  ROARING 
OCEAN. 
Tune—'  Dniimion  dubh* 
Musing  on  the  roaring  ocean 

Which  divides  my  love  and  me  ; 
Wearying  Heaven  in  warm  devotion, 
For  his  weal  where'er  he  be. 

Hope  and  fear's  alternate  billow 
Yielding  late  to  nature's  law  ; 

Whisp'ring  spirits  round  my  pillow 
Talk  of  him  that's  far  awa. 

Ye  whom  sorrow  never  wounded, 

Ye  who  never  shed  a  tear, 
Care-untroubled,  joy-surrounded, 

Gaudy  day  to  you  is  dear. 

Gentle  night,  do  thou  befriend  me  ; 

Downy  sleep,  the  curtain  draw  ; 
Spirits  kind,  again  attend  me, 

Talk  of  him  that's  far  awa ! 


198 


THE  LAZY  MIST. 


BLYTHE  WAS  SHE. 

Tune—'  Andro  and  his  cuttle  gun* 

CHORUS. 

Blythe,  blythe  and  merry  was  she, 
Blythe  was  she  but  and  ben  : 

Blythe  by  the  banks  of  Em, 
And  blythe  in  Glenturit  glen. 

By  Ochtertyre  grows  the  aik, 

On  Yarrow  banks,  the  birken  shaw  ; 
But  Phemie  was  a  bonier  lass 

Than  braes  o'  Yarrow  ever  saw. 
Blythe,  &c. 

Her  looks  were  like  a  flower  in  May, 
Her  smile  was  like  a  simmer  morn  ; 

She  tripped  by  the  banks  of  Ern 
As  light's  a  bird  upon  a  thorn. 
Blythe,  &c. 

Her  bonie  face  it  was  as  meek 

As  onie  lamb's  upon  a  lee  ; 
The  evening  sun  was  ne'er  sae  sweet 

As  was  the  blink  o'  Phemie's  ee. 
Blythe,  &c. 


The  Highland  hills  I've  wander'd  wide. 
And  o'er  the  Lowlands  I  hae  been  ; 

But  Phemie  was  the  blythest  lass 
That  ever  trod  the  dewy  green. 
Blythe,  &c. 

PEGGY'S  CHARMS. 

Tune — '  Neil  Gow's  lamentation  for 
Abercairny? 

Where,  braving  angry  winter's  storms, 

The  lofty  Ochils  rise. 
Far  in  their  shade  my  Peggy's  charms 

First  blest  my  wondering  eyes. 
As  one  who,  by  some  savage  stream, 

A  lonely  gem  surveys, 
Astonish'd  doubly,  marks  it  beam 

With  art's  most  polish'd  blaze. 

Blest  be  the  wild,  sequestered  shade, 

And  blest  the  day  and  houri 
Where  Peggy's  charms  I  first  survey'd, 

When  first  I  felt  their  pow'r  ! 
The  tyrant  death  with  grim  control 

May  seize  my  fleeting  breath  ; 
But  tearing  Peggy  from  my  soul 

Must  be  a  stronger  death. 


THE    LAZY    MIST. 

Irish  Air—'  Cooluu.' 

The  lazy  mist  hangs  from  the  brow  of  the  hill, 

Concealing  the  course  of  the  dark-winding  rill  ; 

How  languid  the  scenes,  late  so  sprightly,  appear, 

As  autumn  to  winter  resigns  the  pale  year  J 

The  forests  are  leafless,  the  meadows  are  brown, 

And  all  the  gay  foppery  of  summer  is  flown  : 

Apart  let  me  wander,  apart  let  me  muse, 

How  quick  time  is  flying,  how  keen  fate  pursues  ; 

How  long  I  have  lived,  but  how  much  lived  in  vain 

How  little  of  life's  scanty  span  may  remain  : 

What  aspects,  old  Time,  in  his  progress,  has  worn  ; 

What  ties,  cruel  fate  in  my  bosom  has  torn. 

How  foolish,  or  worse,  till  our  summit  is  gain'd  ! 

And  downward,  how  weaken'd,  how  darken'd,  how  pain'd  ! 

This  life's  not  worth  having  with  all  it  can  give, 

For  something  beyond  it  poor  man  sure  must  live, 


I  LOVE  MYJEAtf. 


*99 


A  ROSE-BUD  BY  MY  EARLY 
WALK. 

Tune—1  The  Shepherd's  Wife.' 

A  ROSE-BUD  by  my  early  walk, 
Adown  a  corn-enclosed  hawk, 
Sae  gently  bent  its  thorny  stalk, 
All  on  a  dewy  morning. 

Ere  twice  the  shades  o'  dawn  are  fled, 
In  a*  its  crimson  glory  spread, 
And  drooping  rich  the  dewy  head, 
It  scents  the  early  morning. 

Within  the  bush,  her  covert  nest 
A  little  linnet  fondly  prest, 
The  dew  sat  chilly  on  her  breast 
Sae  early  in  the  morning. 

She  soon  shall  see  her  tender  brood, 
The  pride,  the  pleasure  o'  the  wood, 
Amang  the  fresh  green  leaves  bedew'd, 
Awake  the  early  morning. 

So  thou,  dear  bird,  young  Jeany  fair, 
On  trembling  string  or  vocal  air, 
Shalt  sweetly  pay  the  tender  care 
That  tents  thy  early  morning. 

So  thou,  sweet  rose-bud,  young  and  gay, 
Shalt  beauteous  blaze  upon  the  day, 
And  bless  the  parent's  evening  ray 
That  watch' d  thy  early  morning.. 

TIBBIE,  I  HAE  SEEN  THE  DAY.. 

Tune — *  InvercatilcCs  reel' 

CHORUS. 

O  Tibbie,  I  hae  seen  the  day, 

Ye  would  na  been  sae  shy  ; 

For  laik  o'  gear  ye  lightly  me, 

But,  trowth,  I  care  na  by. , 

Yestreen  I  met  you  on  the  moor, 
Ye  spak  na,  but  gaed  by  like  stou're  : 
Ye  geek  at  me  because  I'm  poor, 
But  fient  a  hair  care  I. 
O  Tibbie,  I  hae,  &c. 

I  douJDt  na,  lass,  but  ye  may  think, 
Because  ye  hae  the  name  o'  clink, 
That  ye  can  please  me  at  a  wink, 
Whene'er  ye  like  to  try. 
~0  Tibbie,  I  hae,  &c. 


But  sorrow  tak  him  that's  sae  mean, 
Altho'  his  pouch  o'  coin  were  clean, 
Wha  fol|ows  ony  saucy  quean 
'  That  looks  sae  proud  and  high. 
O  Tibbie,  I  hae,  &c. 

Altho'  a  lad  were  e'er  sae  smart, 
If  that  he  want  the  yellow  dirt, 
Ye'll  cast  your  head  anither  airt, 
And  answer  him  fu'  dry. 
O  Tibbie,  I  hae,  &c. 

But  if  ye  hae  the  name  o'  gear, 
Ye'll  fasten  tc  him  like  a  brier, 
Tho'  hardly  he,  for  sense  or  lear, 
Be  better  than  the  kye. 
O  Tibbie,  I  hae,  &c. 

But,  Tibbie,  lass,,  tak  my  advice, 
Your  daddy's  gear  maks  you  sae  nice ; 
The  deil  a  ane  wad  spier  your  price, 
Were  ye  as  poor  as  I. 
O  Tibbie,  I  hae,  &c. 

There  lives  a  lass  in  yonder  park, 
I  would  na  gie  her  in  her  sark, 
For  thee  wi'  a'  thy  thousand  mark  ; 
Ye  need  na  look  sae  high. 
O  Tibbie,  I  hae,  &c 


I  LOVE  MY  JEAN. 

Tune— •'  Miss  Admiral  Gordon's  Strathspey. 

Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw, 

I  dearly  like  the  west, 
For  there  the  bonie  lassie  lives, 

The  lassie  I  lo'e  best 
There  wild  woods  grow**  and  rivers  row, 

And  monie  a  hill  between  ; 
But  day  and  night  my  fancy's  flight 

Is  ever  wi'  my  Jean. 

I  see  her  in  the  dewy  flowers, 

I  see  her  sweet  and  fair  : 
I  hear  her  in  the  tunefu'  birds, 

I  hear  her  charm  the  air : 
There's  hot  a  bonie  flower  that  springs 

By  fountain,  Shaw,  or  green ; 
There's  not  a  bonie  bird  that  sings, 

J3ut  minds  me  q'  my  Jean, 


200 


THE  HAPPY  TRIO. 


O,  WERE  I  ON  PARNASSUS* 

HILL! 

Tune.—' My  Love  is  lost  to  me* 

O,  were  I  on  Parnassus'  hill  I 
Or  had  of  Helicon  my  fill  j 
That  I  might  catch  poetic  skill, 

To  sing  how  dear  I  love  thee. 
But  Nith  maun  be  my  Muse's  well, 
My  Muse  maun  be  thy  bonie  sel ; 
On  Corsincon  I'll  glowr  and  spell, 

And  write  how  dear  I  love  thee. 

Then  come,  sweet  Muse,  inspire  my  lay  ! 
For  a'  the  lee-lang  simmer's  day, 
I  could  na  sing,  1  could  na  say, 

How  much,  how  dear,  I  love  thee. 
I  see  thee  dancing  o'er  the  green, 
Thy  waist  sae  jimp,  thy  limbs  sae  clean, 
Thy  tempting  looks,  thy  roguish  een — 

By  Heaven  and  earth  I  love  thee  ! 

By  night,  by  day,  a-field,  at  hame, 
The  thoughts  o'  thee  my  breast  inflame; 
And  aye  I  muse  and  sing  thy  name — 

I  only  live  to  love  thee. 
Tho*  I  were  doom'd  to  wander  on, 
Beyond  the  sea,  beyond  the  sun, 
Till  my  last  weary  sand  was  run  ; 

Till  then— and  then  I'd  love  thee. 


TJtfE    BLISSFUL    DAY 

Tune — '  Seventh  of  November* 

The  day  returns,  my  bosom  burns, 

The  blissful  day  we  twa  did  meet ; 
Tho*  winter  wild  in  tempest  toil'd, 

Ne'er  summer-sun  was  half  sae  sweet. 
Than  a'  the  pride  that  loads  the  tide, 

And  crosses  o'er  the  sultry  line  ; 
Than   kingly   robes,  than  crowns  and 
globes, 

Heaven  gave  me  more,  it  made  thee 
mine. 

While  day  and  night  can  bring  delight, 

Or  nature  aught  of  pleasure  give  ; 
While  joys  above  my  mind  can  move, 

For  thee,  and  thee  alone,  I  live  ! 
When  that  grim  foe  of  life  below 

Comes  in  between  to  make  us  part ; 
The  iron  hand  that  breaks  our  band, 

It  breaks  my  bliss — it  breaks  my  heart. 


.THE  BRAES  O'  BALLOCHMYLE. 

Tune—'  Miss  Forbes' s  farewell  to  Banff: 

The  Catrine  woods. were  yellow  seen, 

The  flowers  decay'd  on  Catrine  lee, 
Nae  lav'rock  sang  on  hillock  green, 

But  nature  sicken 'd  on  the  ee. 
Thro*  faded  groves  Maria  sang, 

Hersel  in  beauty's  bloom  the  whyle, 
And  aye  the  wild-wood  echoes  rang, 

Fareweel  the  braes  o'  Ballochmyle. 

Low  in  your  wintry  beds,  ye  flowers, 

Again  ye'll  flourish  fresh  and  fair ; 
Ye  birdies  dumb,  in  with'ring  bowers, 

Again  ye'll  charm  the  vocal  air. 
But  here,  alas  !  for  me  nae  mair 

Shall  birdie  charm,  or  floweret  smile ; 
Fareweel  the  bonie  banks  of  Ayr, 

Fareweel,    fareweel,   sweet  Balloch- 
myle. 

THE  HAPPY  TRIO. 

Tune — *  Willie  brew*  d  a  feck  o'  maut.* 

O,  Willie  brew'd  a  peck  o*  maut, 
And  Rob  and  Allan  cam  to  see  ; 

Three  blyther  hearts,  that  lee-lang  night, 
Ye  wad  na  find  in  Christendie. 

CHORUS. 
We  are  na  fou,  we're  no  that  fou, 

But  just  a  drappie  in  our  ee  j 
The  cock  may  craw,  the  day  may  daw, 

And  ay  we'll  taste  the  barley  bree. 

Here  are  we  met,  three  merry  boys, 
Three  merry  boys,  1  trow,  are  we  ; 

And  monie  a  night  we've  merry  been, 
And  monie  mae  we  hope  to  be ! 
We  are  na  fou,  &c. 

It  is  the  moon,  I  ken  her  horn, 
That's  blinkin  in  the  lift  sae  hie ; 

She  shines  sae  bright  to  wyle  us  hame, 
But  by  my  sooth  she'll  wait  a  wee  I 
We  are  na  fou,  &c. 

Wha  first  shall  rise  to  gang  awa, 
A  cuckold,  coward  loun  is  he  ! 

Wha  first  beside  his  chair  shall  fa', 
He  is  the  King  among  us  three  ! 
We  are  na  fou,  &c. 


TAM  GLEN. 


201 


THE  BLUE-EYED  LASSIE. 

Tune—'  The  btathrie  o't.' 

I  GAED  a  waefu'  gate  yestreen, 

A  gate,  I  fear,  I'll  dearly  rue  ; 
I  gat  my  Heath  frae  twa  sweet  eer^ 

Twa  lovely  een  o'  bonie  blue. 
'Twas  not  her  golden  ringlets  bright, 

Her  lips  like  roses  wat  wi'  dew, 
Her  heaving  bosom  lily-white  ; — 

It  was  her  een  sae  bonie  blue. 

She  talk'd,  she  smii'd,   my  heart  she 
wyi'd, 

She  charm'd  my  soul  I  wist  na  how  ; 
And  ay  the  stound,  the  deadly  wound, 

Cam  frae  her  een  sae  bonie  blue. 
But  spare  to  speak,  and  spare  to  speed  ; 

She'll  aiblins  listen  to  my  vow  : 
Should  she  refuse,  I'll  lay  my  dead 

To  her  twa  een  sae  bonie  blue. 


JOHN  ANDERSON  MY  JO. 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 

When  we  were  first  acquent, 
Your  locks  were  like  the  raven, 

Your  bonie  brow  was  brent ; 
But  now  your  brow  is  beM,  John, 

Your  locks  are  like  the  snaw ; 
But  blessings  on  your  frosty  pow, 

John  Anderson  my  jo. 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 

We  clamb  the  hill  thegither ; 
And  monie  a  canty  day,  John, 

We've  had  wi'  ane  anither  : 
Now  we  maun  totter  down,  John, 

But  hand  in  hand  ive'll  go, 
And  sleep  thegither  au  the  foot, 

John  Anderson  my  jo. 


TAM  GLEN. 

Tune — *  The  mucking o*  Geordifs byre* 

My  heart  is  a  breaking,  dear  Tittie, 
Some  counsel  unto  me  come  len*, 

To  anger  them  a'  is  a  pity  ; 

£ut  what  will  I  do  wi'  Tarn  Glen  ? 


I'm  thinking,  wi'  sic  a  braw  fellow, 
In  poortith  I  might  mak  a  fen'  ; 

What  care  I  in  riches  to  wallow, 
If  I  maunna  marry  Tarn  Glen  ? 

There's  Lowrie  the  laird  o'  Dumeller, 
'  Guid-day  to  you,  brute  ! '  he  comes 
ben  : 
He  brags  and  he  blaws  o'  his  siller, 
But  when  will  he  dance  like  Tarn 
Glen? 

My  minnie  does  constantly  deave  me, 
And  bids  me  beware  o'  young  men  ; 

They  flatter,  she  says,  to  deceive  me  ; 
But  wha  can  think  sae  o'  Tarn  Glen? 

My  daddie  says,  gin  I'll  forsake  him, 
He'll  gie  me  guid  hunder  marks  ten  : 

But,  if  it's  ordain'd  I  maun  take  him, 
O  wha  will  I  get  but  Tam  Glen  ? 

Yestreen  at  the  Valentines'  dealing, 
My  heart  to  my  mou  gied  a  sten  : 

For  thrice  I  drew  ane  without  failing, 
And  thrice  it  was  written,  Tam  Glen. 

The  last  Halloween  I  was  waukin 
My  droukit  sark-sleeve,  as  ye  ken  ; 

His  likeness'  cam  up  the  house  staukin — 
And  the  very  grey  breeks  o'  Tam 
Glen ! 

Come  counsel,  dear  Tittie,  don't  tarry  ; 

I'll  gie  you  my  bonie  black  hen, 
Gif  ye  will  advise  me  to  marry 

The  lad  I  lo'e  dearly,  Tam  Glen. 


GANE  IS  THE  DAY. 

1\5HK—(%Gmdivi/e  count  tlie  lawin.' 

Gawe  is  the  day,  and  mirk's  the  night, 
But  we'll  ne'er  stray  for  faute  o'  light, 
For  ale  and  brandy 's  stars  and  moon, 
And  bluid-red  wine's  the  risin'  sun. 

CHORUS. 

Then  guidwife  count  the   lawin,   the 

lawin,  the  lawin, 
Then  guidwife  count  the  lawin,  and 

bring  a  coggie  mair. 


202 


WHAT  CAN  A  YOUNG  LASSIE  DO? 


There's  wealth  and  ease  for  gentlemen, 
And  semple-folk  maun  fecht  and  fen', 
But  here  we're  a'  in  ae  accord, 
For  ilka  man  that's  drunk 's  a  lord. 
Then  guidwife  count,  &c. 


My  coggie  is  a  haly  pool, 
That  heals  the  wounds  o'  care  and  dool ; 
And  pleasure  is  a  wanton  trout, 
An'  ye  drink  it  a'  ye '11  find  him  out. 
Then  guidwife  count,  &c. 


M3?  TOCHER'S  THE  JEWEL. 

O  MEIKLE  thinks  my  luve  o*  my  beauty, 

And*  meikle  thinks  my  luve  o'  my  kin  ; 
But  little  thinks  my  luve  I  ken  brawlie 

My  Tocher's  the  jewel  has  charms  for  him. 
It's  a*  for  the  apple  he'll  nourish  the  tree  ; 

It's  a'  for  the  hiney  he'll  cherish  the  bee ; 
My  laddie's  sae  meikle  in  luve  wi'  the  siller, 

He  canna  hae  luve  to  spare  for  rce. 

Vour  proffer  o'  luve's  an  airle-penny, 

My  Tocher's  the  bargair*  ye  wad  lu#; 
But  an  ye  be  crafty,  I  am  cunnin, 

Sae  ye  wi'  anither  yo»v  fortune  mau.i  *hy. 
Ye're  like  to  the  timmer  o'  yon  rotten  wood  ; 

Ye' re  like  to  the  bark  o'  yon  rotten  trt-  ; 
Ye'H  slip  frae  me  like  a  knoiless  thread, 

And  ye'll  crack  your  credit  wi'  mae  nor  me. 


WHAT  CAN  A  YOUNG  LASSIE  DO  WI'  AN  OLD  MAN? 
Tune — '  What  can  a  Lassie  do.* 

What  can  a  young  lassie,  what  shall  a  young  lassie, 
What  can  a  young  lassie  do  wi'  an  auld  man? 

Bad  luck  on  the  penny  that  tempted  my  minnie 
To  sell  her  poor  Jenny  for  siller  an'  Ian' ! 
Bad  luck  on  the  penny,  &c. 

He's  always  compleenin  frae  mornin  to  e'enin, 
He  hosts  and  he  hirples  the  weary  day  lang  : 

He's  doylt  and  he's  dozin,  his  bluid  it  is  frozen, 
O,  dreary's  the  night  wi'  *  crazy  auld  man  ! 


He  hums  and  he  hankers,  he  frets  and  he  cankers, 
I  never  can  please  him  do  a'  that  I  can  ; 

*  the  young  fellows : 
man! 


He's  peevish,  and  jealous  of  a*  the  young 
O,  dool  on  the  day,  I  met  wi'  an  auld 


My  auld  auntie  Katie  upon  me  takes  pity, 
I'll  do  my  endeavour  to  follow  her  plan ; 

I'll  cross  him,  and  rack  him,  until  I  heart-break  him, 
And  then  his  auld  brass  will  buy  me  a  new  pan. 


BESSY  AND  HER  SPINNIN  WHEEL. 


203 


O,  FOR  ANE  AND  TWENTY, 
TAM! 

Tune— *  The  Moudiewort.* 

CHORUS. 

An  O  for  ane  and  twenty,  Tarn  ! 

An  hey,  sweet  ane  and  twenty,  Tarn ! 
I'll  learn  my  kin  a  rattlin  sang, 

An  I  saw  ane  and  twenty,  Tarn. 

They  snool  me  sair,  and  haud  me  down, 

And  gar  me  look  like  bluntie,  Tarn.! 

But  three  short  years  will  soon  wheel 

roun', 

And  then  comes  ane  and  twenty,  Tarn. 

An  O  for  ane3  &c. 

A  gleib  o'  Ian',  a  claut  o'  gear, 
Was  left  me  by  my  auntie,  Tarn ; 

At  kith  or  kin  I  need  na  spier, 
An  I  saw  ane  and  twenty,  Tarn. 
An  O  for  ane,  &c. 

They'll  hae  me  wed  a  wealthy  coof, 
Tho'  I  mysel'  hae  plenty,  Tarn  ; 

But  hear'st  thou,  laddie,  there's  my  loof, 
I'm  thine  at  ane  and  twenty,  Tarn  ! 
An  O  for  ane,  &c. 


THE  BONIE  WEE  THING. 
Tune—'  The  Lads  of  Saltcoais.' 

Bonie  wee  thing,  cannie  wee  thing, 
Lovely  wee  thing,  was  thou  mine, 

I  wad  wear  thee  in  my  bosom, 
Lest  my  jewel  I  should  tine. 

Wishfully  I  look  and  languish 
In  that  bonie  face  o'  thine  ; 

And  my  heart  it  stounds  wi'  anguish, 
Lest  my  wee  thing  be  na  mine. 

Wit,  and  grace,  and  love,  and  beauty 

In  ae  constellation  shine  ; 
To  adore  thee  is  my  duty, 

Goddess  o'  this  soul  o'  mine  ! 
Bonie  wee,  &c. 


THE    BANKS    OF    NITH. 

Tune — '  Robie  Donna  Gorach.' 

The  Thames  flows  proudly  to  the  sea, 

Where  royal  cities  stately  stand  ; 
But  sweeter  flows  the  Nith  to  me, 

Where  Cummins  ance  had  high  com- 
mand : 
When  shall  I  see  that  honour'd  land, 

That  winding  stream  I  love  so  dear  ! 
Must  wayward  fortune's  adverse  hand 

For  ever,  ever  keep  me  here? 

How  lovely,  Nith,  thy  fruitful  vales, 

Where    spreading    hawthorns    gaily 
bloom ; 
How  sweetly  wind  thy  sloping  dales, 

Where   lambkins  wanton  thro',  the 
broom  ! 
Tho'  wandering,  now,  must  be  my  doom, 

Far  from  thy  bonie  banks  and  braes, 
May  there  my  latest  hours  cQnsume, 

Amang  the  friends  of  early  days  ! 


BESSY  AND  HER  SPINNIN 
WHEEL. 

Tune-'  Bottom  of  the  Punch  Bowl* 

O  leeze  me  on  my  spinnin  wheel, 
O  leeze  me  on  my  rock  and  reel ; 
Frae  tap  to  tae  that  deeds  me  bien, 
And  haps  me  fiel  and  warm  at  e'en  ! 
I'll  set  me  down  and  sing  and  spin, 
While  laigh  descends  the  simmer- sun, 
Blest  wi'  content,  and  milk  and  meal— 
O  leeze  me  on  my  spinnin  wheel. 

On  ilka  hand  the  burmes  trot, 
And  meet  below  my  theekit  cot ; 
The  scented  birk  and  hawthorn  white, 
Across  the  pool  their  arms  unite, 
Alike  to  screen  the  birdie's  nest, 
And  little  fishes'  caller  rest: 
The  sun  blinks  kindly  in  the  biel\ 
Where  blythe  I  turn  my  spinnin  wheel 

On  lofty  aiks  the  cushats  wail, 
And  echo  cons  the  doohV  tale  ; 
The  lintwhites  in  the  hazel  braes, 
Delighted,  riv?l  ither's  lays  ; 


204 


FAIR  ELIZA. 


The  craik  amarig  the  claver  hay, 
The  paitrick  whirriri  o'er  the  ley, 
The  swallow  jinkin  round  my  shiel, 
Amuse  me  at  my  spinnin  wheel. 

Wi'  sma'  to  sell,  and  less  to  buy, 
Aboon  distress,  below  envy, 
O  wha  wad  leave  this  humble  state, 
For  a*  the  pride  of  a'  the  great  ? 
Amid  their  flarin,  idle  toys, 
Amid  their  cumbrous,  dinsome  joys. 
Can  they  the  peace  and  pleasure  feel 
Of  Bessy  at  her  spinnin  wheel  ? 


COUNTRY  LASSIE. 
Tune—*  John,  came  kiss  me  now* 

In  simmer  when  the  hay  was  mawn, 

And  corn  wav'd  green  in  ilka  field, 
While  claver  blooms  white  o'er  the  lea, 

And  roses  blaw  in  ilka  bield ; 
Blythe  Bessie  in  the  milking  shiel, 

Says,  '  I'll  be  wed,  come  o't  what 
will;' 
Out  spak  a  dame  in  wrinkled  eild, 

4  O'  guid  advisement  comes  nae  ill. 

*  It's  ye  hae  wooers  monie  ane, 

And,  lassie,  ye're  but  young  ye  ken ; 
Then  wait  a  wee,  and  cannie  wale 

A  routine  butt,  a  routhie  ben : 
There's  Johnie  o'  the  Buskie-glen, 

Fu'  is  his  barn,  fu'  is  his  byre ; 
Tak  this  frae  me,  my  bonie  hen,  ' 

It's  plenty  beets  the  luver's  fire.' 

'  For  Johnie  o'  the  Buskie-glen 

I  dinna  care  a  single  flie  ; 
lie  lo'es  sae  weel  his  craps  and  kye, 

He  has  nae  luve  to  spare  for  me  : 
But  blithe's  the  blink  o'  Robie's  ee, 

And  weel  I  wat  he  lo'es  me  dear  : 
Ae  blink  o'  him  I  wad  nae  gie 

For  Buskie-glen  and  a'  his  gear.' 

'O  thoughtless  lassie,  life's  a  fought  ! 

The  canniest  gate,  the  strife  is  sail  ; 
But  aye  fu'  han't  is  fechtin  best, 

A  hungry  care's  an  unco  care  : 
But  some  will  spend,   and   some  will 
spare, 

An'  wilfu'  folk  maun  hae  their  will ; 


Syne  as  ye  brew,  my  maiden  fair, 
Keep  mind  that  ye  maun  drink  the 
yill.' 

*  O,  gear  will  buy  me  rigs  o'  land, 

And  gear  will  buy  me  sheep  and  kye ; 
But  the  tender  heart  o'  leesome  luve 

The  gowd  and  siller  canna  buy  : 
We  may  be  poor — Robie  and  I, 

Light  is  the  burden  luve  lays  on  ; 
Content  and  luve  brings  peace  and  joy, 

What  mair  hae  queens  upon  a  throne  r 

FAIR  ELIZA. 

Tune  -'  The  bouie  bntcket  Lassie* 

Turn  again,  thou  fair  Eliza, 

Ae  kind  blink  before  we  part, 
Rue  on  thy  despairing  lover  ! 

Canst  thou  break  his  faithfu'  heart  ? 
Turn  again,  thou  fair  Eliza  ; 

If  to  love  thy  heart  denies, 
For  pity  hide  the  cruel  sentence 

Under  friendship's  kind  disguise  ! 

Thee,  dear  maid,  hae  I  offended  ? 

The  offence  is  loving  thee  ; 
Canst  thou  wreck  his  peace  for  ever, 

Wha  for  thine  wad  gladly  die  ? 
While  the  life  beats  in  my  bosom, 

Thou  shall  mix  in  ilka  throe : 
Turn  again,  thou  lovely  maiden, 

Ae  sweet  smile  on  me  bestow. 

Not  the  bee  upon  the  blossom, 

In  the  pride  o'  shiny  noon-; 
Not  the  little  sporting  fairy, 

Ail  beneath  the  simmer  moon  ; 
Not  the  poet  in  the  moment 

Fancy  lightens  in  his  ee, 
Kens  the  pleasure,  feels  the  rapture, 

Thatjhy  presence  gies  to  me. 

SHE'S  FAIR  AND  FAUSE. 

She's  fair  and   fause  that  causes  my 
smart, 
I  lo'ed  her  meikle  and  lang  : 
She's  broken  her  vow,  she's  broken  my 
heart, 
And  1  nmy  ten  gae  hang. 


THE  POSIE. 


205 


A  coof  cam  in  wi'  rowth  o'  gear, 

And  I  hae  tint  my  dearest  dear, 

But  woman  is  but  warld's  gear, 

Sae  let  the  bonie  lass  gang. 

Whae'er  ye  be  that  woman  love, 
To  this  be  never  blind, 


Nae  ferlie  'tis  tho'  fickle  she  prove, 

A  woman  has't  by  kind  : 
O  Woman  lovely,  Woman  fair  ! 
An  Angel  form's  faun  to  thy  share, 
'Twad  been  o'er  meikle  to  gien  thee 
mair, 

I  mean  an  Angel  mind. 


THE  POSIE. 


O  luve  will  venture  in,  where  it  daur  na  weel  be  seen, 
O  luve  will  venture  in,  where  wisdom  ance  has  been ; 
But  I  will  down  yon  river  rove,  amang  the  wood  sae  green, 
And  a'  to  pu'  a  Posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 

The  primrose  I  will  pu*,  the  firstling  o'  the  year, 
And  I  will  pu'  the  pink,  the  emblem  o'  my  dear, 
For  she's  the  pink  o'  womankind,  and  blooms  without  a  peer : 
And  a'  to  be  a  Posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 

I'll  pu'  the  budding  rose,  when  Phoebus  peeps  in  view, 
For  it's  like  a  baumy  kiss  o'  her  sweet  bonie  mou ; 
The  hyacinth 's  for  constancy,  wi'  its  unchanging  blue, 
And  a'  to  be  a  Posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 

The  lily  it  is  pure,  and  the  lily  it  is  fair, 
And  in  her  lovely  bosom  I'll  place  the  lily  there  ;, 
The  daisy's  for  simplicity  and  unaffected  air, 
And  a'  to  be  a  Posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 

The  hawthorn  I  will  pu',  wi'  its  locks  o'  siller  grey, 
Where,  like  an  aged  man,  it  stands  at  break  o'  day, 
But  the  songster's  nest  within  the  bush  I  winna  tak  away  j 
And  a'  to  be  a  Posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 

The  woodbine  I  will  pu'  when  the  e'ening  star  is  near, 
And  the  diamond  drops  o'  dew  shall  be  her  een  sae  clear : 
The  violet's  for  modesty  which  weel  she  fa's  to  wear, 
And  a'  to  be  a  Posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 

I'll  tie  the  Posie  round  wi'  trie"  silken  band  o'  luve, 
And  I'll  place  it  in  her  breast,  and  I'll  swear  by  a'  above, 
That  to  my  latest  draught  o'  life  the  band  shall  ne'er  rcmuve, 
And  this  will  be  a  Posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 


206 


GLOOMY  DECEMBER. 


THE  BANKS  O'  DOON. 

Tune—'  The  Caledonian  Hunt s  delight* 

Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  bonie  Doon, 

How  can  ye  bloom  sae  fresh  and  fair ! 
How  can  ye  chant,  ye  little  birds, 

•And  I  sae  weary  fu'  o'  care  ! 
Thou' It  break  my  heart,  thou  warbling 
bird, 

That    wantons    thro'    the   flowering 
thorn : 
Thou  minds  me  o'  departed  joys, 

Departed — never  to  return. 

Thou'lt  break  my  heart,  thou  bonie  bird, 

That  sings  beside  thy  mate, 
For  sae  I  sat,  and  sae  I  sang, 

And  wist  na  o*  my  fate. 
Aft  hae  I  rov'd  by  bonie  Doon, 

To  see  the  rose  and  woodbine  twine; 
And  ilka  bird  sang  o'  its  luve, 

And  fondly  sae  did  I  o'  mine. 

Wi'  lightsome  heart  I  pu'd  a  rose, 

Fu'  sweet  upon  its  thorny  tree  ; 
And  my  fause  luver  stole  my  rose, 

But  ah  !  he  left  the  thorn  wi'  me. 
Wi'  lightsome  heart  I  pu'd  a  rose 

Upon  a  morn  in  June  ; 
And  sae  I  flourish'd  on  the  morn, 

And  sae  was  pu'd  on  noon. 


VERSION  PRINTED  IN  THE 
MUSICAL  MUSEUM. 

Ye  flowery  banks  o'  bonie  Doon. 

How  can  ye  blume  sae  fair  ! 
How  can  ye  chant,  ye  little  birds, 

And  I  sae  fu'  o'  care. 

Thou' 11   break  my  heart,  thou  bonie 
bird, 

That  sings  upon  the  bough ; 
Thou  minds  me  o'  the  happy  days, 

When  my  fause  luve  was  true. 

Thou'll  break  my  heart,   thou  bonie 
bird, 

That  sings  beside  thy  mate  ; 
For  sae  I  sat,  and  sae  I  sang, 

And  wist  na  o'  my  fate. 

Aft  hae  I  rov'd  by  bonie  Doon, 
To  see  the  wood-bine  twine, 

And  ilka  bird  sang  o'  its  love, 
And  sae  did  I  o'  mine. 

Wi'  lightsome  heart  I  pu'd  a  rose 

Frae  off  its  thorny  tree.; 
And  my  fause  luver  staw  the  rose, 

But  left  the  thorn  wi'  me. 


GLOOMY  DECEMBER. 

Ance  mair  I  hail  thee,  thou  gloomy  December ! 

Ance  mair  1  hail  thee  wi'  sorrow  and  care  ; 
Sad  was  the  parting  thou  makes  me  remember, 

Parting  wi'  Nancy,  oh  !  ne'er  to  meet  mair. 
Fond  lovers'  parting  is  sweet  painful  pleasure, 

Hope  beaming  mild  on  the  soft  parting  hour  ; 
But  the  dire  feeling,  O  farewell  for  ever, 

Is  anguish  unmingl'd  and  agony  pure. 

Wild  as  the  winter  now  tearing  the  forest, 

Till  the  last  leaf  o'  the  summer  is  flown, 
Such  is  the  tempest  has  shaken  my  bosom, 

Since  my  last  hope  and.  last  comfort  is  gone  ; 
£till  as  I  hail  thee,  thou  gloomy  December, 

Still  shall  I  haij  thee  wi'  sorrow  and  care ; 
For  sad  was  the  parting  thou  makes  me  remember, 

Parting  wi*  Nancy,  oh  !  ne'er  to  meet  mair. 


AFTOX  WATER, 


5©7 


BEHOLD  THE  HOUR. 

Tone — '  Oran  GaoiV 

Behold  the  hour,  the  boat  arrive ! 

Thou  goest,  thou  darling  of  my  heart : 
Sever'd  from  thee  can  I,  survive  ? 

But  fate  has  will'd,  and  we  must  part  ! 
I'll  often  greet  this  surging  swell ; 

Yon  distant  isle  will  often  hail : 
i  E'en  here  I  took  the  last  farewell ; 

There  latest  mark'd  her  vanish'd  sail. ' 

Along  the  solitary  shore, 

While  flitting  sea-fowls  round  me  cry, 
Across  the  rolling,  dashing  roar, 

I'll  westward  turn  my  wistful  eye  : 
*  Happy,  thou' Indian  grove,'  I'll  say, 

'  Where  now  my  Nancy's  path  may  be ! 
While  thro'  thy  sweets  she  loves  to  stray, 

O  tell  me,  does  she  muse  on  me  ? ' 


WILLIE'S  WIFE. 

Tune— 'Tibbie  Fowler  in  the  Glen.* 

Willie  Wastle  dwalt  on  Tweed, 
The  spot  they  ca'd  it  Linkumdoddie, 

Willie  was  a  wabster  guid, 

Cou'd  stown  a  clue  wi'  onie  bodie ; 


He  had  a  wife  was  dour  and  din, 
O  Tinkler  Madgie  was  her  mither ; 
Sic  a  wife  as  Willie  had, 
I  wad  na  gie  a  button  for  her. 

She  has  an  ee,  she  has. but  ane, 
The  cat  has  twa  the  very  colour  : 

Five  rusty  teeth,  forbye  a  stump, 
A  clapper  tongue  wad  deave  a  miller  J 

A  whiskin  beard  about  her  mou, 

Her  nose  and  chin  they  threaten  ither  ; 
Sic  a  wife,  &c. 

She's  bow-hough'd,  she's  hein  shinn'd, 
Ae  limpin  leg  a  hand-breed  shorter ; 

She's  twisted  right,  she's  twisted  left, 
To  balance  fair  in  ilka  quarter  : 

She  has  a  hump  upon  her  breast, 
The  twin  o'  that  upon  her  shouther  j 
Sic  a  wife,  &c. 

Auld  baudrons  by  the  ingle  sits, 

An'  wi'  her  loof  her  face  a-washin  ; 
But  Willie's  wife  is  nae  sae  trig, 

She  dights  hergrunzie  wi'  a  hushion  j 
Her  walie  nieves  like  midden-creels, 
Her  face  wad  fyle  the  Logan-water ; 
Sic  a  wife  as  Willie  had, 
I  wad  na  gie  a  button  for  her. 


AFTON  WATER. 

Flow  gently,  sweet*  Afton,  among  thy  green  braes, 
Flow  gently,  I'll  sing  thee  a  song  in  thy. praise; 
My  Mary's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring  stream, 
Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  disturb  not  her  dream. 

Thou  stock-dove  who9e  echo  resounds  thro'  the  glen, 
Ye  \ViId  whistling  blackbirds  in  yon  thorny  den, 
Thou  green-crested  lapwing,  thy  screaming  forbear, 
I  charge  you  disturb  not  my  slumbering  fair. 

How  lofty,  sweet  Afton,  thy  neighbouring,  hills, 
Far  mark'd  with  the  courses  of  clear,  winding  rills; 
There  daily!  wander  as  noon  rises  .high. 
My  flocks  and  my  Mary's  sweet  cot  in  my  eye. 

I  low  pleasant  thy  banks  and  green  valleys  below* 
Where  wild  in  the  woodlands  the  primroses  blow} 
There  oft  as  mild  ev'ning  weeps  over  the  lea, 
The  sweet-scented  birk  shades  my  Mary  and  me. 


563 


THE  LOVELY  LASS  OF  INVERNESS. 


Thy  crystal  stream,  Alton,  how  lovely  it  glides, 
And  winds  by  the  cot  where  my  Mary  resides ; 
How  wanton  thy  waters  her  snowy  feet  lave, 
As  gathering  sweet  flow' rets  she  stems  thy  clear  wave. 

Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  among  thy  green  braes, 
Flow  gently,  sweet  river,  the  theme  of  my  lays ; 
My  Mary 's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring  stream, 
Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  disturb  not  her  dream. 


LOUIS,  WHAT  RECK  I  BY  THEE? 

Tune — *  My  Mother's  aye  glowring  o'er  inc.'' 

Louis,  what  reck  I  by  thee, 
Or  Geordie  on  his  ocean  ? 

Dyvour,  beggar  loons  to  me, 
I  reign  in  J eanie's  bosom. 

Let  her  crown  my  love  her  law, 
And  in  her  breast  enthrone  me  : 

Kings  and  nations,  swith  awa  ! 
Reif  randies,  I  disown  ye ! 

BONIE  BELL. 

The  smiling  spring  come3  in  rejoicing, 

And  surly  winter  grimly  flies  : 
Now  crystal  clear  are  the  falling  waters, 

And  borne  blue  are  the  sunny  skies  ; 
Fresh  o'er  the  mountains  breaks  forth 
the  morning, 

The  ev'ning  gilds  the  oceans  swell ; 
All  creatures  joy  in  the  sun's  returning, 

And  I  rejoice  in  my  bonie  Bell. 

The  flowery  spring  leads  sunny  summer, 

And  yellow  autumn  presses  near, 
Then  in  his  turn  comes  gloomy  winter, 

Till  smiling  spring  again  appear. 
Thus  seasons  dancing,  life  advancing, 

Old  Time  and  Nature  their  changes 
tell, 
But  never  ranging,  still  unchanging 

I  adore  my  bonie  Bell. 

FOR  THE  SAKE  OF  SOMEBODY. 

Tt)NE—'  The  Highland  Watch's  farewell.* 

My  heart  is  sair,  I  dare  na  tell, 
My  heart  is  sair  for  somebody  ; 

I  could  wake  a  winter  night, 
For  the  sake  o'  somebody  ! 


Oh-hon  !  for  somebody  ! 

Oh-hey !  for  somebody  ! 
I  could  range  the  world  around, 
For  the  sake  o'  somebody. 

Ye  powers  that  smile  on  virtuous  love, 

O,  sweetly  smile  on  somebody  ! 
Frae  ilka  danger  keep  him  free, 
And  send  me  safe  my  somebody. 
Oh-hon  !  for  somebody  ! 
Oh-hey  !  for  somebody  ! 
I  wad  do — what  wad  I  not  ? 
For  the  sake  o'  somebody ! 

O  MAY,  THY  MORN. 

O  May,  thy  morn  was  ne'er  sae  sweet, 
As  the  mirk  night  o'  December  ; 

For  sparkling  was  the  rosy  wine, 
And  private  was  the  chamber  : 

And  dear  was  she  I  dare  na  name, 
But  I  will  aye  remember. 
And  dear,  &c. 

And  here's  to  them,  that,  like  oursel, 

Can  push  about  the  jorum, 
And  here's  to  them  that  wish  us  weel, 

May  a'  that's  guid  watch  o'er  them  ; 
And  here's  to  them  we  dare  na  tell, 

The  dearest  o'  the  quorum. 
And  here's  to,  &c. 

THE  LOVELY  LASS  OF 
INVERNESS. 

The  lovely  lass  o'  Inverness, 

Nae  joy  nor  pleasure  can  she  see  ; 
For  e'en  and  morn  she  cries,  alas  ! 

And  aye  the  saut  tear  blins  her  ee^ 
Drumossie  moor,  Dntmossie  day, 

A  waefu'  day  it  was  to  me ; 
For  there  I  lost  my  father  dear, 

My  father  dear,  and  brethren  three. 


A  VISION 


209 


Their  winding-sheet  the  bluidy  clay, 

Their  graves  are  growing  green  to  see ; 
And  by  them  lies  the  dearest  lad 

That*  ever  blest  a  woman's  ee  ! 
Now  wae  to  thee,  thou  cruel  lord, 

A  bluidy  man  I  trow  thou  be  ; 
For  monie  a  heart  thou  hast  made  sair, 

That  ne'er  did  wrang  to  thine  or  thee. 


A    kED,    RED    ROSE. 
Tune—'  Wishaitfs  favourite* 

O,  MY  hive's  like  a  red,  red  rose, 
That's  newly  sprung  in  June  : 

O,  my  luve  's  like  the  melodie 
That's  sweetly  play'd  in  tune. 

As  fair  art  thou,  my  bonie  lass, 

So  deep  in  luve  am  I  : 
And  I  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear, 

Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry 

Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry,  my  dear, 
And  the  rocks  melt  wi'  the  sun  : 

I  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear, 
While  the  sands  o'  life  shall  run. 

And  fare  thee  weel,  my  only  luve, 
And  fare  thee  weel  awhile  ! 

And  I  will  come  again,  my  luve, 
Tho'  it  were  ten  thousand  mile. 


0,  WAT  YE  WHA'S  IN  YON 
TOWN  ? 

Tune — *  The  bonie  Lass  in  yon  toivn.* 

O,  WAT  ye  wha's  in  yon  town, 
Ye  see  the  e'enin  sun  upon  ? 

The  fairest  dame's  in  yon  town, 
That  e'enin  sun  is  shining  on. 

Now  haply  down  yon  gay  green  shaw, 
She  wanders  by  yon  spreading  tree : 

How  blest,  ye  flow'rs  that  round  her 
blaw, 
Ye  catch  the  glances  o'  her  e'e ! 

How  blest,  ye  birds  that  round  her  sing, 
And  welcome  in  the  blooming  year^ 

And  doubly  welcome  be  the  spring, 

The  season  to  my  Lucy  dear  I 
)M    3 


The  sun  blinks  blithe  on  yon  town, 
And  on  yon  bonie  braes  of  Ayr ; 

But  my  delight  in  yon  town, 
And  dearest  bliss,  is  Lucy  fair. 

Without  my  love,  not  a'  the  charms 
O'  Paradise  could  yield  me  joy ; 

But  gie  me  Lucy  in  my  arms, 
And  wekome  Lapland's  dreary  sky. 

My  cave  wad  be  a  lover's  bower, 
Tho'  raging  winter  rent  the  air  ; 

And  she  a  lovely  little  flower, 
That  I  wad  tent  and  shelter  there. 

0  sweet  is  she  in  yon  town, 

Yon  sinkin  sun's  gane  down  upon  5 
A  fairer  than's  in  yon  town, 
His  setting  beam  ne'er  shone  upon. 

If  angry  fate  is  sworn  my  foe, 
And  suffering  I  am  doom'd  to  bear ; 

1  careless  quit  all  else  below, 

But  spare  me,  spare  me  Lucy  dear. 

For  while  life's  dearest  blood  is  warm, 
Ae  thought  frae  her  shall  ne'er  depart, 

And  she — as  fairest  is  her  form, 
She  has  the  truest,  kindest  heart. 


A  VISION. 

Tune—'  Cwnnock  Psaitns.' 

As  I  stood  by  yon  roofless  tower, 
Where  the  wa'  flower  scents  the  dewy 
air, 
Where  the  howlet  mourns  in  her  ivy 
bower, 
And  tells  the  midnight  moon  her  care  j 

CHORUS. 

A  lassie,  all  alone  was  making  her  moan, 
Lamenting  our  lads  beyond  the  sea  : 

In   the  bluidy  wars  they  fa',  and  our 
honour's  gane  an'  a', 
And  broken -hearted  we  maun  die. 

The  winds  were  laid,  the  air  was  still, 
The  stars  they  shot  alang  the  sky  ; 

The  fox  was  howling  on  the  hill, 
And  the  distant-echoing  glens  reply. 


210 


JOCKEY'S  TA'EN  THE  PARTING  KISS. 


The  stream,  adown  its  hazelly  path, 
Was  rushing  by  the  ruin'd  wa's, 

Hasting  to  join  the  sweeping  Nith, 
Whase  distant  roarings  swell  and  fa's. 

The  cauld  blue  north  was  streaming  forth 
Her  lights,  wi'  hissing,  eerie  din  ; 

Athort  the  lift  they  start  and  shiit, 
Like  fortune's  favours,  tint  as  win. 

By  heedless  chance  I  turn'd  mine  eyes, 
And,  by  the  moonbeam,  shook  to  see 

A  stern  and  stalwart  ghaist  arise, 
Attir'd  as  minstrels  wont  to  be. 

Had  I  a  statue  been  o*  stane, 
His  darin  look  had  daunted  me  . 

And  on  his  bonnet  grav'd  was  plain 
The  sacred  posy— Libertie  ! 

And  frae  his  harp  sic  strains  did  flow, 
Might  rous'd  the  slumbering  dead  to 
hear; 

But  oh,  it  was  a  tale  of  woe, 
As  ever  met  a  Briton's  ear  ! 

He  sang  wi'  joy  his  former  day, 
He  weeping  wail'd  his  latter  times  ; 

But  what  ne  said  it  was  nae  play, 
I  winna  venture' t  in  my  rhymes. 


O,  WERT  THOU  IN  THE  CAULD 


tune- 


blast. 

The  Lass  of  Livingstone* 


O,  wert  thou  in  the  cauld  blast, 

On  yonder  lea,  on  yonder  lea, 
My  plaidie  to  the  angry  airt, 

I'd  shelter  thee,  I'd  shelter  thee. 
Or  did  misfortune's  bitter  storms 

Around  thee  blaw,  around  thee  blaw, 
Thy  bield  should  be  my  bosom, 

To  share  it  a',  to  share  it  a'. 

Or  were  Tin  the  wildest  waste, 

Of  earth  and  air,  of  earth  and  air, 
The  desart  were  a  paradise, 

If  thou  wert  there,  if  thou  wert  there. 
Or  were  I  monarch  o'  the  globe, 

Wi'  thee  to  reign,  wi'  thee  to  reign, 
The  only  jewel  in  my  crown 

Wad  be  my  queen,  wad  be  my  queen. 


THE  HIGHLAND.LASSIE. 

\Tune — '  The  deuks  dang  o'er  my  daddy* 

Nae  gentle  dames,  tho'  e'er  sae  fair, 
Shall  ever  be  my  Muse's  care  ; 
Their  titles  a'  are  empty  show  ; 
Gie  me  my  Highland  lassie,  O. 

CHORUS. 

Within  the  glen  sae  bushy,  O, 
Aboon  the  plain  sae  rushy,  O, 
I  set  me  down  wi'  right  good  will 
To  sing  my  Highland  lassie,  O. 

Oh,  were  yon  hills  and  valleys  mine, 
Yon  palace  and  yon  gardens  fine  ! 
The  world  then  the  love  should  know 
I  bear  my  Highland  lassie,  O. 
Within  the  glen,  &c. 

But  fickle  fortune  frowns  on  me, 
And  I  maun  cross  the  raging  sea  ; 
But  while  my  crimson  currents  flow 
I'll  love  my  Highland  lassie,  O. 
Within  the  glen,  &c. 

Altho'  thro'  foreign  climes  I  range, 
I  know  her  heart  will  never  change, 
For  her  bosom  burns  with  honour's  glow, 
My  faithful  Highland  lassie,  O. 
Within  the  glen,  &c. 

For  her  I'll  dare  the  billow's  roar, 
For  her  I'll  trace  a  distant  shore, 
That  Indian  wealth  may  lustre  throw 
Around  my  Highland  lassie,  O. 
Within  the  glen,  &c. 

She  has  my  heart,  she  has  my  hand, 
By  sacred  truth  and  honour's  band  ! 
Till  the  mortal  stroke  shall  lay  me  low, 
I'm  thine,  my  Highland  lassie,  O.) 

Fareweel  the  glen  sae  bushy,  O  ! 
Fareweel  the  plain  sae  rushy,  O  ! 
To  other  lands  I  now  must  go, 
To  sing  my  Highland  lassie,  O  I 

JOCKEY'S    TA'EN    THE    PART- 
ING  KISS. 

JockeV's  ta'en  the  parting  kiss, 
O'er  the  mountains  he  is  gane ; 

And  with  him  is  a'  my  bliss, 

Nought  but  griefs  with  me  remain. 


BONIE  ANN. 


tn 


Spare  my  luve,  ye  winds  that  blaw, 
Plashy  sleets  and  beating  rain  ! 

Spare  my  luve,  thou  feathery  snaw, 
Drifting  o'er  the  frozen  plain  ! 

When  the  shades  of  evening  creep 
O'er  the  day's  fair,  gladsome  ee, 

Sound  and  safely  may  he  sleep, 
Sweetly  blithe  his  waukening  be  ! 

He  will  think  on  her  he  loves, 
Fondly  he'll  repeat  her  name  ; 

For  where'er  he  distant  roves, 
Jockey's  heart  is  still  at  hame. 

PEGGY'S  CHARMS. 

My  Peggy's  face,  my  Peggy's  form, 
The  frost  of  hermit  age  might  warm  ; 
My  Peggy's  worth,  my  Peggy's  mind, 
Might  charm  the  first  of  human  kind. 
I  love  my  Peggy's  angel  air, 
Her  face  so  truly,  heavenly  fair, 
Her  native  grace  so  void  of  art ; 
But  I  adore  my  Peggy's  heart. 

The  lily's  hue,  the  rose's  dye, 
The  kindling  lustre  of  an  eye  ; 
Who  but  owns  their  magic  sway, 
Who  but  knows  they  all  decay  ! 
The  tender  thrill,  the  pitying  tear, 
The  generous  purpose,  nobly  dear, 
The  gentle  look  that  rage  disarms, 
These  are  all  immortal  charms. 

UP  IN  THE  MORNING  EARLY. 

CHORUS. 

Up  in  the  morning's  no  for  me, 
Up  in  the  morning  early  ; 

When  a'  the  hills  are  cover'd  wi'  snaw, 
I'm  sure  it's  winter  fairly. 

CAULD  blaws  the  wind  frae  east  to  west, 

The  drift  is  driving  sairly  ; 
Sae  loud  and  shrill's  I  hear  the  blast, 

I'm  sure  it's  winter  fairly. 

The  birds  sit  chittering  in  the  thorn, 
A*  day  they  fare  but  sparely  ; 

And  lang's  the  night  frae  e'en  to  morn, 
I'm  sure  it's  winter  fairly, 
yp  in  the  morning,  &c. 


THO'  CRUEL  FATE. 

Tho'  cruel  fate  should  bid  us  part, 

As  far's  the  pole  and  line; 
Her  dear  idea  round  my  heart 

Should  tenderly  entwine. 

Tho'  mountains  frown  and  deserts  howl, 

And  oceans  roar  between  ; 
Yet,  dearer  than  my  deathless  soul. 

I  still  would  love  my  jean. 


I      DREAM'D     I     LAY     WHERE 
FLOWERS  WERE  SPRINGING. 

I  dream'd  I  lay  where  flowers  were 
springing 

Gaily  in  the  sunny  beam  ; 
List'ning  to  the  wild  birds  singing, 

By  a  falling,  crystal  stream  : 
Straight  the  sky  grew  black  and  daring ; 

Thro'  the  woods  the  whirlwinds  rave  ; 
Trees  with  aged  arms  were  warring, 

O'er  the  swelling,  drumlie  wave. 

Such  was  my  life's  deceitful  morning, 

Such  the  pleasures  I  enjoy 'd  ; 
But  lang  or  noon,  loud  tempests  storming 

A'  my  flowery  bliss  destroy'd. 
Tho'  fickle  fortune  has  deceiv'd  me, 

She  promis'd  fair,  and  perform'd  but  ill ; 
Of  monie  a  joy  and  hope  bereav'd  me, 

I  bear  a  heart  shall  support  me  still. 

BONIE  ANN. 

V  E  gallants  bright,  I  red  you  right, 

Beware  o'  bonie  Ann  : 
Her  comely  face  sae  fu'  o'  grace, 

Your  heart  she  will  trepan. 
Her  een  sae  bright,  like  stars  by  night, 

Her  skin  i?  like  the  swan  ; 
Sae  limpy  lac'd  her  genty  waist, 

That  sweetly  ye  might  span. 

Youth,  grace,  and  love,  attendant  move, 

And  pleasure  leads  the  van  ; 
Tn  a'  their  charms,  and  conquering  arms, 

They  wait  on  borne  Ann. 
The  captive  bands  may  chain  the  hands, 

But  love  enslaves  the  man  : 
Vc  gallants  braw,  I  red  you  a'# 

Beware  o'  bonie  Ann. 


9X2  THERE'S  A  YOUTH  IN  THIS  CITY. 


MY  BONIE  MARY. 


Go  fetch  to  me  a  pint  o'  wine, 

An'  fill  it  in  a  silver  tassie ; 
That  I  may  drink  before  I  go, 

A  service  to  my  borne  lassie. 
The  boat  rocks  at  the  pier  o'  Leith  ; 

Fu'  loud  the  wind  blaws  frae  the  ferry; 
The  ship  rides  'by  the  Berwick-law, 

And  I  maun  leave  my  bonie  Mary. 


The  trumpets  sound,  the  banners  fly, 

The  glittering  spears  are  ranked  ready; 
The  shouts  o'  war  are  heard  afar, 

The  battle  closes  thick  and  bloody ; 
But  it's  no  the  roar  o*  sea  or  shore 

Wad  mak  me  langer  wish  to  tarry  j 
Nor  shout  o'  war  that's  heard  afar^ 

It's  leaving  thee,  my  bonie  Mary. 


MY  HEART'S  IN  THE  HIGHLANDS. 

Mv  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart  is  not  here  ; 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  a-chasing  the  deer ; 
Chasing  the  wild  deer,  and  following  the  roe, 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  wherever  I  go. 
Farewell  to  the  Highlands,  farewell  to  the  North, 
The  birth-place  of  valour,  the  country  of  worth  ; 
Wherever  I  wander,  wherever  I  rove, 
The  hills  of  the  Highlands  for  ever  I  love. 

Farewell  to  the  mountains  high  cover'd  with  snow  ; 
Farewell  to  the  straths  and  green  valleys  below  ; 
Farewell  to  the  forests  and  wild-hanging  woods ; 
Farewell,  to  the  torrents  and  loud-pouring  floods. 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands, -my  heart  is  not  here  ; 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  a-chasing  the  deer; 
Chasing  the  wild  deer,  and  following  the  roe, 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  wherever  I  go. 

THERE'S  A  YOUTH  IN  THIS  CITY. 

Tune — '  Neil  Goufs  laments 

There's  a  youth  in  this  city,  it  were  a  great  pify, 

That  he  from  our  lasses  should  wander  awa  ; 
For  he's  bonie  and  braw,  weel  favour'd  witha', 

And  his  hair  has  a  natural  buckle  and  a*. 
His  coat  is  the  hue  of  his  bonnet  sae  blue  ; 

His  fecket  is  white  as  the  new-driven  snaw  ; 
His  hose  they  are  blae,  and  his  shoon  like  the  slae, 

And  his  clear  siller  buckles  they  dazzle  us  a'. 
His  coat  is  the  hue,  &c. 

For  beauty  and  fortune  the  laddie 's  been  courtin  ; 

Weel-featur'd,  weel-tocher'd,  weel-mounted  and  braw ; 
But  chiefly  the  siller,  that  gars  him  gang  till  her, 

The  pennie's  the  jewel  that  beautifies  a'. 
There's  Meg  wi'  the  mailin,  that  fain  wad  a  haen  him, 

And  Susy  whase  daddy  was  Laird  o'  the  ha' ; 
There's  lang-tocher'd  Nancy  maist  fetters  his  fancy, 

—But  the  laddie's  dear  sel  he  lo'es  dearest  of  a'. 


YON  WILD  MOSSY  MOUNTAINS. 


**i 


THE  RANTIN  DOG  THE 
DADDIE  OT. 

Tune— *  East  nodk  o'  Fife.* 

O  WHA  my  babie-clouts  will  buy  1 
Wha  will  tent  me  -when  I  cry  ? 
Wha  will  kiss  me  whare  I  lie  ? 
The  rantin  dog  the  daddie  o't. 

Wha  will  own  he  did  the  faut  ? 
Wha  will  buy  my  groanin  maut  ? 
Wha  will  tell  me  how  to  ca't  ? 
The  rantin  dog  the  daddie  o't. 

When  I  mount  the  creepie-chair, 
>  Wha  will  sit  beside  me  there  ? 
Gie  me  Rob,  I  seek  nae  mair, 
The  rantin  dog  the  daddie  o't, 

Wha  will  crack  to  me  my  lane  ? 
Wha  will  mak  me  fidgin  fain  ? 
Wha  will  kiss  me  o'er  again  ? 
The  rantin  dog  the  daddie  o't. 


I  DO  CONFESS  THOU  ART  SAE 
FAIR. 

I  no  confess  thou  art  sae  fair, 
I  wad  been  o'er  the  lugs  in  luve ; 

Had  I  not  found  the  slightest  prayer 
That    lips    could    speak,    thy  heart 
could  muve. 

I  do  confess  thee  sweet,  but  find 
Thou  art  sae  thriftless  o'  thy  sweets, 

Thy  favours  are  the  silly  wind 
That  kisses  ilka  thing  it  meets. 

See  yonder  rose-bud  rich  in  dew, 
Amang  its  native  briers  sae  coy, 

How  soon  it  tines  its  scent  and  hue 
When  pu'd  and  worn  a  common  toy  J 

Sic  fate  ere  lang  shall  thee  betide, 
Tho'  thou  may  gaily  bloom  a  while  ; 

Yet  soon  thou  shalt  be  thrown  aside, 
Like  onie  common  weed  and  vile. 


YON  WILD  MOSSY  MOUNTAINS. 

Yon  wild  mossy  mountains  sae  lofty  and  wide,, 
That  nurse  in  their  bosom  the  youth  o'  the  Clyde, 
Where  the  grouse  lead  their  coveys  thro'  the  heather  to  feed, 
And  the  shepherd  tents  his  flock  as  he  pipes  on  his  reed  : 
Where  the  grouse,  &c. 

Not  Cowrie's  rich  valley,  nor  Forth' s  sunny  shores, 
To  me  hae  the  charms  o'  yon  wild  mossy  moors  ; 
For  there,  by  a  lanely,  sequester'd  clear  stream, 
Resides  a  sweet  lassie,  my  thought  and  my  dream. 

Amang  thae  wild  mountains  shall  still  be  my  path, 
Ilk  stream  foaming  down  its  ain  green  narrow  strath; 
For  there,  wi'  my  lassie,. the  day  lang  I  rove, 
While  o'er  us  unheeded  fly  the. swift  hours  o'  love, 

She  is  not  the  fairest,  altho'  she  is  fair ; 
O'  nice  education  but  sma'  is  her  share  ; 
Her  parentage  humble  as  humble  can  be  , 
But  I  lo'e  the  dear  lassie  because  she  lo'es  me. 

To  beauty  what  man  but  maun  yield  him  a  prize, 
In  her  armour  of  glances,  and  blushes,  and  sighs  ? 
And  when  wit  and  refinement  hae  polish'd  her  darts, 
They  dazzle  our  een,  as  they  fly  to  our  hearts. 

But  kindness,  sweet  kindness,  in  the  fond  sparkling  ee, 
Has  lustre  outshining  the  diamond  to  me  ; 
And  the  heart-beating  love,. as  I'm  clasp'd  in  her  arms, 
O,  these  are  my  lassie's  all-conquering  charms  I 


214 


OUT  OVER  THE  FORTH. 


WHA  IS  THAT  AT  MY  BOWER 
DOOR? 

Wha  is  that  at  my  bower  door  ? 

O  wha  is  it  but  Findlay  ; 
Then  gae  your  gate,  ye'se  nae  be  here  ! 

Indeed  maun  I,  quo'  Findlay. 
What  mak  ye  sae  like  a  thief? 

O  come  and  see,  quo'  Findlay  ; 
Before  the  morn  ye'll  work  mischief ; 

Indeed  will  I,  quo'  Findlay. 

Gif  I  rise  and  let  you  in ; 

Let  me  in,  quo'  Findlay ; 
Ye'll  keep  me  waukin  wi'  your  din  ; 

Indeed  will  I,  quo*  Findlay. 
In  my  bower  if  ye  should  stay ; 

Let  me  stay,  quo*  Findlay ; 
I  fear  ye'll  bide  till  break  o'  day ; 

Indeed  will  I,  quo*  Findlay. 

Here  this  night  if  ye  remain  ; 

I'll  remain,  quo'  Findlay ; 
I  dread  ye'll  learn  the  gate  again  \ 

Indeed  will  I,  quo*  Findlay. 
What  may  pass  within  this  bower — 

Let  it  pass,  quo'  Findlay  ; 
Ye  maun  conceal  till  your  last  hour ; 

Indeed  will  I,  quo'  Findlay. 

FAREWELL  TO  NANCY. 

Ae  fond  kiss,  and  then  we  sever  ! 
Ae  fareweel,  alas,  for  ever  ! 
Deep  in  heart-wrung  tears  I'll  pledge  thee, 
Warring  sighs  and  groans  I'll  wage  thee. 
Who  shall  say  that  fortune  grieves  him 
While  the  star  of  hope  she  leaves  hrm  ? 
Me,  nae  cheerfu'  twinkle  lights. me, 
Dark  despair  around  benights  me. 

I'll  ne'er  blame  my  partial  fancy, 
Naething  could  resist  my  Nancy  ; 
But  to  see  her,  was  to  love  her; 
Love  but  her,  and  love  for  ever. 
Had  we  never  lov'd  sae  kindly, 
Had  we  never  lov'd  sae  blindly, 
Never  met — or  never  parted, 
We  had  ne'er  been  broken  hearted. 

Fare  thee  weel,  thou  first  and  fairest ! 
Fare  thee  weel,  thou  best  and  dearest ! 
Thine  be  ilka  joy  and  treasure, 
Peace,  enjoyment,  love,  and  pleasure. 


Ae  fond  kiss,  and  then  we  sever ; 
Ae  fareweel,  alas,  for  ever! 
Deep  in  heart-wrung  tears  I  pledge  thee, 
Warring  sighs  and  groans  I'll  wage  thee. 

THE   BONIE   BLINK   O' 
MARY'S  EE. 

Now  bank  an'  brae  are  claith'd  in  green, 

An*  scatter' d  cowslips  sweetly  spring, 
By  Girvan's  fairy  haunted  stream 

The  birdies  flit  on  wanton  wing. 
To  Cassillis'  banks  when  e'ening  fa's, 

There  wi'  my  Mary  let  me  flee, 
There  catch  her  ilka  glance  o'  love, 

The  bonie  blink  o'  Mary's  ee  ! 

The  chield  wha  boasts  o'  warld's  wealth, 

Is  aften  laird  o'  meikle  care ; 
But  Mary  she  is  a'  my  ain, 

Ah,  fortune  canna  gie  me  mair  ! 
Then  let  me  range  by  Cassillis'  banks 

Wi'  her  the  lassie  dear  to  me, 
And  catch  her  ilka  glance  o'  love, 

The  bonie  blink  o'  Mary's  ee  ! 

OUT  OVER  THE  FORTH. 

Out  over  the  Forth  I  look  to  the  north, 
But  what  is  the  north  and  its  High- 
lands to  me  ? 
The  south  nor  the  east  gie  ease  to  my 
breast, 
The  far  foreign  land,   or  the  wild 
rolling  sea. 

But  I  look  to  the  west,  when  I  gae  to 
rest, 
That    happy    my    dreams    and    my 
slumbers  may  be  ; 
For  far  in  the  west  lives  he  I  lo'e  best, 
The  lad  that  is  dear  to  my  babie  and 


THE  BONIE  LAD  THAT'S  FAR 
AWAY. 

Tune—'  Owre  the  hills  and  far  away.' 

O  How  can  I  be  blithe  and  glad, 
Or  how  can  I  gang  brisk  and  braw, 

When  the  bonie  lad  that  I  lo'e  best 
Is  o'er  the  hills  and  far  awa? 


BAATkS  OF  DEVON. 


215 


It's  no  the  frosty  winter  wind, 

It's  no  the  driving  drift  and  snaw  ; 

But  ay  the  tear  comes  in  my  ee, 
To  think  on  him  that's  far  awa. 

My  father  pat  me  frae  his  door, 

My  friends  they  hae  disown'd  me  a' 

But  I  hae  ane  will  tak  my  part, 
The  bonie  lad  that's  far  awa. 

A  pair  o'  gloves  he  gae  to  me, 

And  silken  snoods  he  gae  me  twa  ; 

And  I  will  wear  them  for  his  sake, 
The  bonie  lad  that's  far  awa. 

The  weary  winter  soon  will  pass, 
And  spring  will  cleed  the  birken 
shaw : 

And  my  sweet  babie  will  be  born, 
And  he'll  came  hame  that's  far  awa. 


THE  GOWDEN  LOCKS 

OF  ANNA 

Tune — ' Banks  of  Banna.1 

Yestreen  I  had  a  pint  o'  wine, 
A  place  where  body  saw  na' ; 

Yestreen  lay  on  this  breast  o'  mine 
The  gowden  locks  of  Anna. 


The  hungry  Jew  in  wilderness. 

Rejoicing  o'er  his  manna, 
Was  naething  to  my  hinny  bliss 

Upon  the  lips  of  Anna. 

Ye  monarchs,  tak  the  east  and  west, 

Frae  Indus  to  Savannah  ! 
Gie  me  within  my  straining  grasp 

The  melting  form  of  Anna. 
There  I'll  despise  imperial  charms, 

An  Empress  or  Sultana, 
While  dying  raptures  in  her  arms, 

I  give  and  take  with  Anna  ! 

Awa,  thou  flaunting  god  o'  day ! 

Awa,  thou  pale  Diana  ! 
Ilk  star  gae  hide  thy  twinkling  ray 

When  I'm  to  meet  my  Anna. 
Come,  in  thy  raven  plumage,  night, 

Sun,  moon,  and  stars  withdrawn  a' ; 
And  bring  an  angel  pen  to  write 

My  transports  wi'  my  Anna  ! 

POSTSCRIPT. 
The  kirk  and  state  may  join,  and  tell 

To  do  such  things  I  mauna  : 
The  kirk  and  state  may  gae  to  hell. 

And  I'll  gae  to  my  Anna. 
She  is  the  sunshine  o'  my  ee, 

To  live  but  her  I  canna  ; 
Had  I  on  earth  but  wishes  three, 

The  first  should  be  my  Anna. 


BANKS   OF  DEVON. 

How  pleasant  the  banks  of  the  clear-winding  Devon, 
With  green -spreading  bushes,  and  flowers  blooming  fair  ! 

But  the  boniest  flower  on  the  banks  of  the  Devon 
Was  once  a  sweet  bud  on  the  braes  of  the  Ayr. 

Mild  be  the  sun  on  this  sweet  blushing  flower, 
In  the  gay  rosy  morn  as  it  bathes  in  the  dew ! 

And  gentle  the  fall  of  the  soft  vernal  shower, 
That  steals  on  the  evening  each  leaf  to  renew. 

O,  spare  the  dear  blossom,  ye  orient  breezes, 
With  chill  hoary  wing  as  ye  usher  the  dawn  ! 

And  far  be  thou  distant,  thou  reptile  that  seizes 
The  verdure  and  pride  of  the  garden  and  lawn  ! 

Let  Bourbon  exult  in  his  gay  gilded  lilies, 

And  England  triumphant  display  her  proud  rose  ; 

A  fairer  than  either  adorns  the  green  valleys 
Where  Devon,  sweet  Devon,  meandering  flows. 


2l6 


THE  DE'IVS  AW  A  Wf   THE  EXCISEMAN. 


ADOWN  WINDING  NITH. 

Tune — '  The  muckinc?  Geordie's  byre.* 

Adown  winding  Nith  I  did  wander, 
To  mark  the  sweet  flowers  as  they 
spring ; 

Adown  winding  Nith  I  did  wander, 
Of  Phillis  to  muse  and  to  sing. 

CHORUS. 

A  wa  wi'  your  belles  and  your  beauties, 
They  never  wi'  her  can  compare ; 

Whaever  has  met  wi'  my  Phillis, 
Has  met  wi*  the  queen  o'  the  fair. 

The  daisy  amus'd  my  fond  fancy, 
.So  artless,  so  simple,  so  wild  ; 

Thou  emblem,  said  I,  o'  my  Phillis, 
For  she  is  Simplicity's  child. 
Awa,  &a 

The  rose-bud's  the  blush  o'  my  charmer, 
Her  sweet  balmy  lip  when  'tis  prest : 

How  fair  and  how  pure  is  the  lily, 
But  fairer  and  purer  her  breast. 
Awa,  &c. 

Von  knot  of  gay  flowers  in  the  arbour, 
They  ne'er  wi'  my  Phillis  can  vie  : 

Her  breath  is  the  breath  o'  the  woodbine, 
Its  dew-drop  o'  diamond,  her  eye. 
Awa,  &c. 

Her  voice  is  the  song  of  the  morning 
That  wakes  through  the  green-spread- 
ing grove 
When  Phcebus  peeps  over  the  mountains, 
On  music,  and  pleasure,  and  love. 
Awa,  &c. 

But  beauty  how  frail  and  how  fleeting, 
The  bloom  of  a  fine  summer's  day  ! 

While  worth  in  the  mind  o'  my  Phillis 
Will  flourish  without  a  decay. 
Awa,  &c. 

STREAMS  THAT  GLIDE. 

Tune—'  Morag.' 

Streams  that  glide  in  orient  plains, 
Never  bound  by  winter's  chains  \ 
Glowing  here  on  golden  sands, 
There  commix' d  with  foulest  stains 
From  tyranny's  empurpled  bands  : 


These,  their  richly-gleaming  waves, 
I  leave  to  tyrants  and  their  slaves ; 
Give  me  the  stream  that  sweetly  laves 
The  banks  by  Castle  Gordon. 

Spicy  forests,  ever  gay, 
Shading  from  the  burning  ray 
Hapless  wretches  sold  to  toil, 
Or  the  ruthless  native's  way, 
Bent  on  slaughter,  blood,  and  spoil :      \ 
Woods  that  ever  verdant  wave,  s 

I  leave  the  tyrant  and  the  slave, 
Give  me  the  groves  that  lofty  brave 
The  storms,  by  Castle  Gordon. 

Wildly  here  without  control, 
Nature  reigns  and  rules  the  whole  ; 
In  that  sober  pensive  mood, 
Dearest  to  the  feeling  soul, 
She  plants  the  forest,  pours  the  flood ; 
Life's  poor  day  I'll  musing  rave, 
And  find  at  night  a  sheltering  cave, 
Where  waters  flow  and  wild  woods  wave, 
By  bonie  Castle  Gordon. 


THE  DE'IL'S  AWA'  WI'  THE 
EXCISEMAN. 

The  De'il  cam  fiddling  thro'  the  town, 
And  dane'd  awa  wi'  the  Exciseman  ; 

And  ilka  wife  cry'd  *  Auld  Mahoun, 
We  wish  you  luck  o'  your  prize,  man. 

*  We'll  mak  our  maut,  and  brew  our 
drink, 
We'll  dance,  and  sing,  and  rejoice, 
man; 
And  monie  thanks  to   the  muckle 
black  De'il 
That  dane'd  awa  wi'  the  Excise* 
man. 

*  There's  threesome  reels,  and  foursomei 
reels, 
There's  hornpipes  and  strathspeys, 
man ; 
But  the  ae  best  dance  e'er  cam  to  our  Ian*, 
Was — the  De'il's  awa  wi'  the  Excise- 
man. 
We'll  mak  our  maut,'  &c 


WHERE  ARE  THE  JO  VS. 


2\f 


BLITHE  HAE  I  BEEN   ON  YON 
HILL. 

Tl'NE—  Liggeram  cosh.' 

Blithe  hae  I  been  on  yon  hill, 

As  the  lambs  before  me  ; 
Careless  ilka  thought  and  free, 

As  the  breeze  flew  o'er  me  : 
Now  nae  langer  sport  and  play, 

Mirth  or  sang  can  please  me  ; 
Lesley  is  sae  fair  and  coy, 

Care  and  anguish  seize  me. 

Heavy,  heavy  is  the  task, 

Hopeless  love  declaring  : 
Trembling,  I  dow  nocht  but  glowr, 

Sighing,  dumb,  despairing  ! 
IX  she  winna  ease  the  thraws 

In  my  bosom  swelling, 
Underneath  the  grass-green  sod 

Soon  maun  be  my  dwelling. 


O  WERE  MY  LOVE  YON 
LILAC  FAIR. 

Tunte— -* Hugkie  Gra/tam.' 

O  werk  my  love  yon  lilac  fair, 

Wi'  purple  blossoms  to  the  spring  ; 

And  I,  a  bird  to  shelter  there, 
When  wearied  on  my  little  wing  ; 

How  I  wail  mourn,  when  it  was  torn 
By  autumn  wild,  and  winter  rude  ! 


But  I  wad  sing  on  wanton  wing, 

When  youthfu    May   its   bloom  re- 
new'd. 

O  gin  my  love  were  yon  red  rose 
That  grows  upon  the  castle  wa', 

And  I  mysel'  a  drap  o'  dew, 
Into  her  bonie  breast  to  fa' ! 

Oh,  there  beyond  expression  blest, 
I'd  feast  on  beauty  a'  the  night  ; 

Seal'd  on  her  silk-saft  faulds  to  rest, 
Till  (ley'd  awa'  by  Phoebus'  light. 


COME,  LET  ME  TAKE  THEE. 

Tune— *  Cauld  kail: 

Come,  let  me  take  thee  to  my  breast, 

And  pledge  we  ne'er  shall  sunder  ; 
And  I  shall  spurn  as  vilest  dust 

The  warld's  wealth  and  grandeur : 
And  do  I  hear  my  Jeanie  own 

That  equal  transports  move  her  ? 
I  ask  for  dearest  life  alone 

That  I  may  live  to  love  her. 

Thus  in  my  arms,  wi'  all  thy  charms, 

I  clasp  my  countless  treasure  ; 
I'll  seek  nae  mair  o'  heaven  to  share, 

Than  sic  a  moment's  pleasure  : 
And  by  thy  een,  sae  bonie  blue, 

I  swear  I'm  thine  for  ever! 
And  on  thy  lips  I  seal  my  vow, 

And  break  it  shall  I  never. 


WHERE  ARE  THE  JOYS. 

Tu  NE— '  Sa w  ye  my  Fa  titer  ? ' 

Where  are  the  Joys  I  have  met  in  the  morning, 
That  dane'd  to  the  lark's  early  sang? 

Where  is  the  peace  that  awaited  my  wand'ring, 
At  evening  the  wild  woods  amang? 

No  more  a-winding  the  course  of  yon  river, 
And  marking  sweet  flow'rets  so  fair  : 

No  more  I  trace  the  light  footsteps  of  pleasure, 
But  sorrow  and  sad  sighing  care. 


2i3 


MY  CHLORIS. 


Is  it  that  summer's  forsaken  our  valleys, 

And  grim,  surly  winter  is  near  ? 
No*  no,  the  bees  humming  round  the  gay  roses, 

Proclaim  it  the  pride  of  the  year. 

Fain  would  I  hide  what  I  fear  to  discover, 
Yet  long,  long  too  well  have  I  known  : 

All  that  has  caus'd  this  wreck  in  my  bosom, 
Is  Jenny,  fair  Jenny  alone. 

Time  cannot  aid  me,  my  griefs  are  immortal, 

Nor  hope  dare  a  comfort  bestow : 
Come,  then,  enamour'd  and  fond  of  my  anguish, 

Enjoyment  I'll  seek  in  my  woe. 


O  SAW  YE  MY  DEAR. 
Tune — '  When  she  cam  ben  site  bobbit* 

O  saw  ye  my  dear,  my  Phely  ? 
O  saw  ye  my  dear,  my  Phely  ? 
She '8  down  i'  the  grove,  she's  wi'  a  new 
love, 
She  winna  come  hame  to  her  Willy. 

What  says  she,  my  dearest,  my  Phely  ? 

What  says  she,  my  dearest,  my  Phely  ? 

She  lets  thee  to  wit  that  she  has  thee 

forgot, 

And  for  ever  disowns  thee  her  Willy. 

O  had  I  ne'er  seen  thee,  my  Phely ! 
O  had  I  ne'er  seen  thee,  my  Phely  ! 
As  light  as  the  air,  and  fause  as  thou's 
fair, 
Thou'st  broken  the  heart  o'  thy  Willy. 


THOU  HAST  LEFT  ME  EVER, 
JAMIE. 

Tune—* Fee  him,  father* 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie, 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever  ; 
Thou  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie, 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever. 
Aften  hast  thou  vow'd  that  death 

Only  should  us  sever  ; 
Now  thou'st  left  thy  lass  for  aye — 

I  maun  see  thee  never,  Jamie,. 
Fll  sec  thee  never  ! 


Thou  hast  me  forsaken,  Jamie, 
Thou  hast  me  forsaken  ; 

Thou  hast  me  forsaken,  Jamie, 
Thou  hast  me  forsaken. 

Thou  canst  love  anither  jo, 
While  my  heart  is  breaking  ; 

Soon  my  weary  een  I'll  close- 
Never  mair  to  waken,  Jamie, 
Ne'er  mair  to  waken  ! 


MY  CHLORIS. 

Tune— *Afy  lodging  is  on  the  cold  ground.' 

My  Chloris,  mark  how  green  the  groves, 
The  primrose  banks  how  fair  : 

The  balmy  gales  awake  the  flowers, 
And  wave  thy  flaxen  hair. 

The  lav'rock  shuns  the  palace  gay, 
And  o'er  the  cottage  sings  : 

For  Nature  smiles  as  sweet,  I  ween, 
To  shepherds  as  to  kings. 

Let  minstrels  sweep  the  skilfu'  string 

In  lordly  lighted  ha* : 
The  shepherd  stops  his  simple  reed, 

Blythe,  in  the  birken  shaw. 

The  princely  revel  may  survey 
Our  rustic  dance  wi'  scorn ; 

But  are  their  hearts  as  light  as  ours 
Beneath  the  milk-white  thorn  ? 


O  PHILLY. 


219 


The  shepherd,  in  the  flowery  glen, 
In  shepherd's  phrase  will  woo  : 

The  courtier  tells  a  finer  tale, 
But  is  his  heart  as  true  ? 

These  wild-wood  flowers  I've  pu'd,  to 
deck 

That  spotless  breast  o'  thine  : 
The  courtier's  gems  may  witness  love — 

But  'tis  na  love  like  mine. 


CHARMING  MONTH  OF  MAY. 

Tune—'  Dainty  Davie. 

It  was  the  charming  month  of  May, 
When  all  the  flowers  were  fresh  and  gay, 
One  morning,  by  the  break  of  day, 
The  youthful,  charming  Chloe  ; 

From  peaceful  slumber  she  arose, 
Girt  on  her  mantle  and  her  hose, 
And  o'er  the  flowery  mead  she  goes, 
The  youthful,  charming  Chloe. 

CHORUS. 

Lovely  was  she  by  the  dawn, 

Youthful  Chloe,  charming  Chloe, 

Tripping  o'er  the  pearly  lawn, 
The  youthful,  charming  Chloe. 

The  feather'd  people  you  might  see 
Perch'd  all  around  on  every  tree, 
In  notes  of  sweetest  melody 
They  hail  the  charming  Chloe ; 

Till,  painting  gay  the  eastern  skies, 
The  glorious  sun  began  to  rise, 
Out-rival 'd  by  the  radiant  eyes 
Of  youthful,  charming  Chloe. 
Lovely  was  she,  &c. 


LET  NOT  WOMAN  E'ER 
COMPLAIN. 

Tune — '  Duncan  Gray* 

Let  not  woman  e'er  complain 
Of  inconstancy  in  love ; 

Let  not  woman  e'er  complain, 
Fickle  man  is  apt  to  rove  ; 


Look  abroad  through  Nature's  Tange, 
Nature's  mighty  law  is  change  ; 

Ladies,  would  it  not  be  strange, 
Man  should  then  a  monster  prove:  ? 

Mark  the  winds,  and  mark  the  skies; 

Ocean's  ebb,  and  ocean's  flow : 
Sun  and  moon  but  set  to  rise, 

Round  and  round  the  seasons  go. 

Why  then  ask  of  silly  man, 
To  oppose  great  Nature's  plan  ? 

We'll  be  constant  while  we  can— 
You  can  be  no  more,  you  know. 


O  PHILLY. 

Tune—'  The  sow's  fait.' 

HE. 

O  Philly,  happy  be  that  day 
When,  roving  thro*  the  gather'd  hay, 
My  youthfu'  heart  was  stown  away, 
And  by  thy  charms,  my  Philly. 

SHE. 

O  Willy,  aye  I  bless  the  grove 
Where  first  I  own'd  my  maiden  love, 
Whilst  thou  didst  pledge   the  Powers 
above 
To  be  my  ain  dear  Willy. 

HE. 

As  songsters  of  the  early  year 
Are  ilka  day  mair  sweet  to  hear, 
So  ilka  day  to  me  mair  dear 
And  charming  is  my  Philly. 

SHE. 

As  on  the  brier  the  budding  rose 
Still  richer  breathes  and  fairer  blows, 
So  in  my  tender  bosom  grows 
The  love  I  bear  my  Willy. 

HE. 

The  milder  sun  and  bluer  sky, 
That  crown  my  harvest  cares  wi'  joy, 
Were  ne'er  sae  welcome  to  my  eye 
As  is  a  sight  o*  Philly. 


220 


yOHN  BARLEYCORN, 


SHE. 

The  little  swallow's  wanton  wing, 
Tho'  wafting  o'er  the  flowery  spring, 
Did  ne'er  to  me  sic  tidings  bring 
,As  meeting  o'  my  Willy. 

HE. 
The  bee  that  thro'  the  sunny  hour 
Sips  nectar  in  the  opening  flower, 
Compar'd  wi'  my  delight  is  poor, 
•Upon  the  lips  o*  Philly. 

SHE. 

The  woodbine  in  the  dewy  weet 
When  evening  shades  in  silence  meet 
Is  nocht  sae  fragrant  or  sae  sweet 
As  is  a  kiss  o'  Willy. 

HE. 

Let  fortune's  wheel  at  random  rin, 
And  fools  may  tyne,  and  knaves  may 

win; 
My  thoughts  are  a'  bound  up  in  ane, 
And  that's  my  ain  dear  Philly. 

SHE. 

What's  a'  the  joys  than  gowd  can  gie  ) 
I  care  na  wealth  a  single  flie  ; 
The  lad  I  love 's  the  lad  for  me, 
And  that's  my  ain  dear  Willy, 


JOHN  BARLEYCORN. 

A  BALLAD. 

There  was  three  Kings  into  the  east, 
Three  Kings  both  great  and  high, 

And  they  hae  sworn  a  solemn  oath 
John  Barleycorn  should  die. 

They  took  a  plough  and  plough'd  him 
down, 

Put  clods  upon  his  head, 
And  they  hae  sworn  a  solemn  oath 

John  Barleycorn  was  dead. 

But  the  cheerfu'  Spring  came  kindly  on, 
And  show'rs  began  to  falL ; 

John  Barleycorn  got  up  again, 
And  sore  surpris'd  them  all. 

The  sultry  suns  of  Summer  came, 
And  he  grew  thick  and  strong, 

His  head  weel  arm'd  wi'  pointed  spears, 
That  no  one  should  him  wrong. 


The  sober  Autumn  enter'd  mild, 
When  he  grew  wan  and  pale  ; 

His  bending  joints  and  drooping  head 
Show'd  he  began  to  fail. 

His  colour  sicken'd  more  and  more, 

He  faded  into  age  ; 
And  then  his  enemies  began 

To  shew  their  deadly  rage. 

They've  ta'en  a  weapon,  long  and  sharp, 

And  cut  him  by  the  knee ; 
Then  tied  him  fast  upon  a  cart, 

Like  a  rogue  for  forgerie. 

They  laid  him  down  upon  his  back, 
And  cudgell'd  him  full  sore ; 

They  hung  him  up  before  the  storm, 
And  turn'd  him  o'er  and  o'er. 

They  filled  up  a  darksome  pit^ 

With  water  to  the  brim, 
They  heaved  m  John  Barleycorn, 

There  let  him  sink  or  swim. 

They  lajd  him  out  upon  the  floor, 

To  work  him  farther  woe, 
And  still,  as  signs  of  life  appear'd,* 

They  toss'd  him  to  and  fro. 

They  wasted,  o'er  a  scorching  flame, 

The  marrow  of  his  bones  ; 
But  a  miller  us'd  him  worst  of  all, 

For  he  crush'd  him  between  two  stones. 

And  they  hae  ta'en  his  very  heart's  blood, 
And  drank  it  round  and  round ; 

And  still  the  more  and  more  they  drank, 
Their  joy  did  more  abound. 

John  Barleycorn  was  a  hero  bold, 

Of  noble  enterprise, 
For  if  you  do  but  taste  his  blood, 

'Twill  make  your  courage  rise ; 

'Twill  make  a  man  forget  his  woe  ; 

'Twill  heighten  al)  his  joy  : 
'Twill  make  the  wide  v's  heart  to  sing, 

Tho'  the  tear  were  in  her  eye. 

Then  let  us  toast  John  Barleycorn, 

Each  man  a  glass  in  hand; 
And  may  his  great  posterity 

Ne'er  fail  in  old  Scotland  I 


WHEN  GUILFORD  GOOD  OUR  PILOT  STOOD. 


221 


CANST  THOU  LEAVE  ME  THUS  ? 

Tunb— '  Roy's  Wife. 

Canst  thou  leave  me  thus,  rfiy  Katy  ? 
Canst  thou  leave  me  thus,  my  Katy  ? 
Well  thou  know'st  my  aching  heart, 
And^anst  thou  leave  me  thus  for  pity? 

Is  this  thy  plighted,  fond  regard, 
Thus  cruelly  to  part,  my  Katy  ? 

Is  this  th>  faithful  swain's  reward — 
An  aching,  broken  heart,  my  Katy  ? 
Canst  thou,  &c. 

Farewell !  and  ne'er  such  sorrows  tear 
That  fickle  heart  of  thine,  my  Katy  ! 
Thou  may'st  find  those  will  love  thee 
dear — 
But  not  a  love  like  mine,  my  Katy. 
Canst  thou,  &c. 


ON  CHLORIS  BEING  ILL. 

Tunb—*  Aye  tvaukin  o.' 

Long,  long  the  night, 

Heavy  comes  the  morrow, 

While  my  soul's  delight 
Is  on  her  bed  of  sorrow. 

Can  I  cease  to  care, 
Can  I  cease  to  languish, 

While  my  darling  fair 
Is  on  the  couch  of  anguish? 
Long,  &c. 

Every  hope  is  fled, 

Every  fear  is  terror ; 
Slumber  e'en  I  clread, 

Every  dream  is  horror. 
Long,  &c. 

Hear  me,  Pow'rs  divine  ! 

Oh,  in  pity  hear  me  \ 
Take  aught  else  of  mine. 

But  my  Chloris  spare  me  ! 
Long,  &c 


WHEN  GUILFORD  GOOD  OUR 
PILOT  STOOD. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

Tune—'  Gillicrankit? 

When  Guilford  good  our  Pilot  stood, 

An'  did  our  hellim  thraw,  man, 
Ae  night,  at  tea,  began  a  plea, 

Within  America,  man  : 
Then  up  they  gat  the  maskin-pat, 

And  in  the  sea  did  jaw,  man  ; 
An'  did  nae  less,  in  full  Congress, 

Than  quite  refuse  our  law,  man. 

Then  thro'  the  lakes  Montgomery  takes, 

I  wat  he  was  na  slaw,  man ; 
Down  Lowrie's  burn  he  took  a  turn, 

And  Carleton  did  ca',  man  : 
But  yet,  what-reck,  he,  at  Quebec, 

Montgomery-like  did  fa',  man, 
Wi'  sword  in  hand,  before  his  band, 

Amang  his  en'mies  a',  man. 

Poor  Tammy  Gage,  within  a.  cage 

Was  kept  at  Boston  ha',  man  ; 
Till  Willie  Howe  took  o'er  the  knowe 

For  Philadelphia,  man : 
Wi'  sword  an'  gun  he  thought  a  sin 

Guid  Christian  bluid  to  draw,  man  ; 
But  at  New  York,  wi'  knife  an'  fork, 

Sir  Loin  he  hacked  sma'j  man. 

Burgoyne  gaed  up,  like  spur  an'  whip, 

Till  Eraser  brave  did  fa',  man  ; 
Then  lost  his  way,  ae  misty  clay, 

In  Saratoga  shaw,  man. 
Cornwallis  fought  as  lang's  he  dought, 

An'  did  the  Buckskins  claw,  man  ; 
But  Clinton's  glaive  frae  rust  to  save, 

He  hung  it  to  the  wa\  man. 


Then  Montague,  an'  Guilford  too, 

Began  to  fear  a  fa',  man  ; 
And    Sackville   doure,  wha  stood 
stoure, 

The  German  Chief  to  thraw,  man 
For  Paddy  Burke,  like  ony  Turk, 

Nae  mercy  had  at  a',  man  ; 
An'  Charlie  Fox  threw  by  the  box, 

An'  lows'd  his  tinkler  jaw,  man. 


the 


222 


FAREWELL  TO  ELIZA. 


Then  Rockingham  took  up  the  game ; 

Till  death  did  on  him  ca',  man ; 
When  Shelburne  meek  held  up  his  cheek, 

Conform  to  gospel  law,  man  ; 
Saint  Stephen's  boys,  wi'  jarring  noise, 

They  did  his  measures  thraw,  man, 
For  North  an'  Fox  united  stocks, 

An'  bore  him  to  the.  wa\  man. 

Then  Clubs  an'  Hearts  were  Charlie's 
.  cartes, 

He  swept  the  stakes  awa',  man, 
Till  the  Diamond's  Ace,  of  Indian  race, 

Led  him  a  s'air  faux  pas,  man  : 
The  Saxon  lads,  wi'  loud  placads, 

On  Chatham's  boy  did  ca',  man; 
An'  Scotland  drew  her  pipe,  an'  blew, 

1  Up,  Willie,  waur  them  a',  man  ! ' 

Behind  the  throne  then  Grenville  's  gone, 

A  secret  word  or  twa,  man  ; 
While  slee  Dundas  arous'd  the  class 

Be-north  the  Roman  wa',  man  : 
An'  Chatham's  wraith,  in  heavenly  graith, 

(Inspired  Bardies  saw,  man,) 
Wi'  kindling  eyes  cry'd,  *  Willie,  rise  ! 

Would  I  hae  fear'd  them  a',  man  ? ' 

But,  word  ah'  blow,  North,  Fox,  and  Co. 

GowfT'd  Willie  like  a  ba\  man, 
Till  Suthron  raise,  an5  coost  their  claise 

Behind  him  in  a  raw,  man  ; 
An'  Caledon  threw  by  the  drone, 

An*  did  her  whittle  draw,  man ; 
An*  swcorfu'  rude,  thro'  dirt  an'  blood, 

To  make  it  guid  in  law,  man. 
***** 


THE  RIGS  O'  BARLEY, 

Tune—  *  Corn  rigs  are  dome.* 

It  was  upon  a  Lammas  night, 

When  corn  rigs  are  bonie, 
Beneath  the  moon's  unclouded  light, 

I  held  awa  to  Annie  : 
The  time  flew  by,  wi'  tentless  heed, 

Till  'tween  the  late  and  early, 
Wi'  sma'  persuasion  she  agreed, 

To  see  me  thro'  the  barley. 


The  sky  was  blue,  the  wind  was  still, 

The  moon  was  shining  clearly ; 
I  set  her  down,  wi'  right  good  will, 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley ; 
I  ken't  her  heart  was  a'  my  ain  ; 

I  lov'd  her  most  sincerely ; 
I  kiss'd  her  owre  and  owre  again 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley. 

I  lock'd  her  in  my  fond  embrace  ; 

Her  heart  was  beating  rarely  ; 
My  blessings  on  that  happy  place, 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley  ! 
But  by  the  moort  and  stars  so  bright. 

That  shone  that  hour  so  clearly  ! 
She  ay  shall  bless  that  happy  night 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley, 

I  hae  been  blythe  wi'  comrades  deaf  ; 

I  hae  been  merry  drinking*; 
1  hae  been  joyfu'  gath'rin  gear ; 

I  hae  been  happy  thinking  : 
But  a'  the  pleasures  e'er  I  saw, 

Tho'  three  times  doubl'd  fairly, 
That  happy  night  was  worth  them  a', 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley. 

CHORUS. 

Corn  rigs,  an'  barley  rigs, 

An'  corn  rigs  are  bonie  : 
I  '11  ne'er  forget  that  happy  night, 

Amang  the  rigs  wi*  Annie. 

FAREWELL  TO  ELIZA. 

Tune — '  Gilderoy? 

^rom'  thee,  Eliza,  I  must  go, 

And  from  my  native  shore ; 
The  cruel  fates  between  us  throw 

A  boundless  ocean's  roar  : 
But  boundless  oceans,  roaring  wide, 

Between  my  Love  and  me, 
They  never,  never  can  divide 

My  heart  and  soul  from  thee. 

Farewell,  farewell,  Eliza  dear, 

The  maid  that  I  adore  ! 
A  boding  voice  is  in  mine  ear, 

We  part  to  meet  no  more  ! 
But  the  last  throb  that  leaves  my  heart, 

While  death  stands  victor  by, 
That  throb,  Eliza,  is  thy  part, 

And  thine  that  latest  sigh  J 


NOW  WESTLIN  WINDS, 


223 


MY  NANIE,  O. 

Behind  yon  hills  where  Stinchar  flows, 
'Mang  moors  an'  mosses  many,  O, 

The  wintry  sun  the  day  has  clos'd, 
And  I'll  awa'  to  Nanie,  O. 

The  westlin  wind  blaws  loud  an'  shill ; 

The  night 's  baith  mirk  and  rainy,  O  : 
But  I'll  get  my  piaid,  an'  out  I'll  steal, 

An'  owre  the  hill  to  Nanie,  O. 

My  Nanie 's  charming,  sweet,  an'  young: 
Nae  artfu'  wiles  to  win  ye,  O  : 

May  ill  befa'  the  flattering  tongue 
That  wad  beguile  my  Nanie,  O. 

Her  face  is  fair,  her  heart  is  true, 
As  spotless  as  she's  bonie,  O  : 

The  op'ning  gowan,  wat  wi'  dew, 
Nae  purer  is  than  Nanie,  O. 

A  country  lad  is  my  degree, 

An'  few  there  be  that  ken  me,  O  ; 

But  what  care  1  how  few  they  be, 
I'm  welcome  aye  to  Nanie,  O. 

My  riches  a's  my  penny-fee, 
An'  I  maun  guide  it  cannie,  O 

But  wail's  gear  ne'er  troubles  me, 
My  thoughts  are  a',  my  Nanie,  O. 

Our  auld  Guidman  delights  to  view 
His  sheep  an'  kye  thrive  bonie,  O  ; 

But  I'm  as  blythe  that  haudshis  pleugh, 
An'  has  nae  care  but  Nanie,  O. 

Come  weel,  come  woe,  I  care  na  by, 
I'll  tak  what  Heav'n  will  send  me,  O; 

Nae  ither  care  in  life  have  I, 
But  live,  an'  love  my  Nanie,  O. 


GREEN  GROW  THE  RASHES. 

A  FRAGMENT. 
CHORUS. 

Green  grow  the  rashes,  O ; 

Green  grow  the  rashes,  O ; 
The  sv/eetest  hours  that  e'er  I  spend, 

Are  spent  amang  the  lasses,  O  ! 


There's  nought  but  care  on  ev'ry  han', 
In  ev'ry  hour  that  passes,  O  ; 

What  signifies  the  life  o'  man, 
An'  'twere  na  for  the  lasses,  O. 
Green  grow,  &c. 

The  warly  race  may  riches  chase, 
An'  riches  still  may  fly  them,  O  ; 

An'  tho'  at  last  they  catch  them  fast, 
Their  hearts  can  ne'er  enjoy  them,  O. 
Green  grow,  &c. 

But  gie  me  a  canny  hour  at  e'en, 
My  arms  about  my  dearie,  O  ; 

An'  warly  cares,  an'  warly  men, 
May  a'  gae  tapsalteerie,  O  ! 
Green  grow,  &c. 

For  you  sae  douse,  ye  sneer  at  this, 
Ye're  nought  but  senseless  asses,  O  : 

The  wisest  man  the  warl'  saw, 
He  dearly  lov'd  the  lasses,  O. 
Green  grow,  &c. 

Auld  Nature  swears,  the  lovely  dears 
Her  noblest  work  she  classes,  O  ; 

Her  prentice  han'  she  tried  on  man, 
An'  then  she  made  the  lasses,  O. 
Green  grow,  &c. 


NOW  WESTLIN  WINDS. 

Tune — '/  had  a  horse,  I  had  nae  niair* 

Now   westlin    winds   and   slaught'ring 
guns 
Bring  autumn's  pleasant  weather  ; 
The    moorcock   springs,    on    whirring 
wings, 
Amang  the  blooming  heather : 
Now  waving  grain,  wide  o'er  the  plain, 

Delights  the  weary  farmer  ; 
And  the  moon  shines  bright,  when  I 
rove  at  night 
To  muse  upon  my  charmer. 

The  partridge  loves  the  fruitful  fells ; 

The  plover  loves  the  mountains  ; 
The  woodcock  haunts  the  lonely  dells ; 

The  soaring  hern  the  fountains  : 


224 


THE  BIG- BELLI  ED  BOTTLE. 


Thro'  lofty  groves  the  cushat  roves, 
The  path  of  man  to  shun  it ; 

The  hazel  bush  o'erhangs  the  thrush, 
The  spreading  thorn  the  linnet. 

Thus  ev'ry  kind  their  pleasure  find, 

The  savage  and  the  tender ; 
Some  social  join,  and  leagues  combine ; 

Some  solitary  wander ; 
Avaunt,  away  !  the  cruel  sway, 

Tyrannic  man's  dominion  j 
The  sportsman's  joy,  the  murd'ring  cry, 

The  flutt'ring,  gory  pinion  ! 

But,  Peggy  dear,  the  ev'ning's  clear, 
Thick  flies  the  skimming  swallow ; 


The  sky  is  blue,  the  fields  in  view, 
All  fading-green  and  yellow  • 

Come  let  us  stray  our  gladsome  way, 
And  view  the  charms  of  nature  ; 

The  rustling  corn,  the  fruited  thorn, 
And  ev'ry  happy  creature. 

We'll  gently  walk,  and  sweetly  talk, 

Till  the  silent  moon  shine  clearly ; 
I'll  grasp  thy  waist,  and,  fondly  prest, 

Swear  how  I  love  thee  dearly  : 
Not  vernal  shov/rs  to  budding  flow'rs, 

Not  autumn  to  the  farmer, 
So  dear  can  be,  as  thou  to  me, 

My  fair,  my  lovely  charmer  !. 


THE  BIG-BELLIED  BOTTLE. 

Tune—'  Prepare,  my  dear  brethren,  to  the  tavern  let's  fly' 

No  churchman  am  I  for  to  rail  and  to  write, 
No  statesman  nor  soldier  to  plot  or  to  fight, 
No  sly  man  of  business  contriving  a  snare, 
For  a  big-beliy'd  bottle 's  the  whole  of  my  care. 

The  peer  I  don't  envy,  I  give  him  his  bow ; 

I  scorn  not  the  peasant,  tho'  ever  so  low  ; 

But  a  club  of  good  fellows,  like  those  that  are  there, 

And  a  bottle  like  this,  are  my  glory  and  care. 

Here  passes  the  squire  on  his  brother — his  horse  ; 
There  centum  per  centum,  the  cit  with  his  purse  ; 
But  see  you  the  Crown  how  it  waves  in  the  air, 
There  a  big-belly 'd  bottle  still  eases  my  care. 

The  wife  of  my  bosom,  alas  !  she  did  die  ; 
For  sweet  consolation  to  church  I  did  fly ; 
I  found  that  old  Solomon  proved  it  fair, 
That  the  big-belly'd  bottle  s  a  cure  for  all  care. 

I  once  was  persuaded  a  venture  to  make ; 
A  letter  inform'd  me  that  all  was  to  wreck  ; 
But  the  pursy  old  landlord  just  waddled  up  stairj, 
With  a  glorious  bottle  that  ended  my  cares. 

'  Life's  cares  they  are  comforts,'  a  maxim  laid  down 
By  the  bard,  what  d'ye  call  him,  that  wore  the  black  gd 
And,  faith,  I  agree  with  th'  old  prig  to  a  hair, 
For  a  big-belly'd  bottle 's  a  heav  n  of  a  care. 

A  STANZA  ADDED  IN  A   MASON   LODGE. 

Then  fill  up  a  bumper,  and  make  it  o'erflow, 
And  honours  masonic  prepare  for  to  throw  ; 
May  every  true  brother  of  the  compass  and  square 
Have  a  big-belly'd  bottle  when  harass'd  with  care. 


THE  FAREWELL. 


225 


THE  AUTHOR'S  FAREWELL  TO 
HIS  NATIVE  COUNTRY. 

TiiHE—'KosZin  Castled 

The  gloomy  night  is  gath'rirg  fast, 
Loud  roars  the  wild  inconstant  blast, 
Yon  murky  cloud  is  foul  with  rain, 
I  see  it  driving  o'er  the  plain  ; 
The  hunter  now  has  left  the  moor, 
The  scatter'd  coveys  meet  secure, 
While  here  I  wander,  prest  with  care, 
Along  the  lonely  banks  of  Ayr. 

The  Autumn  mourns  her  rip'ning  corn 
By  early  Winter's  ravage  torn  ; 
Across  her  placid,  azure  sky, 
She  sees  the  scowling  tempest  fly  : 
Chill  runs  my  blood  to  hear  it  rave, 
I  think  upon  the  stormy  wave, 
Where  many  a  danger  I  must  dare, 
Far  from  the  bonie  banks  of  Ayr. 

'Tis  not  the  surging  billow's  roar, 
'Tis  not  that  fatal,  deadly  shore ; 
Tho'  death  in  ev'ry  shape  appear, 
The  wretched  have  no  more  to  fear  : 
,But  round  my  heart  the  ties  are  bound, 
That  heart  transpierc'd  with  many  a 

wound  : 
These  bleed  afresh,  those  ties  I  tear, 
To  leavcthe  bonie  banks  of  Ayr. 

Farewell,  old  Coila's  hills  and  dales, 
Her  heathy  moors  and  winding  vales  ; 
The  scenes  where  wretched  fancy  roves, 
Pursuing  past,  unhappy  loves  ! 
Farewell,   my  friends !    Farewell,    my 

foes  ! 
My  peace  with  these,   my  love   with 

those — 
The  bursting  tears  my  heart  declare, 
Farewell,  the  bonie  banks  of  Ayr ! 

THE  FAREWELL. 

TO.  THE  BRETHREN  OF   ST.    JAMES'S   LODGE, 
TAKBOLTON. 

Tune— *Cuid  night,  and  Joy  be  wV  you  a*  /' 

Adieu  !  a  heart-warm,  fond  adieu  ! 

Dear  brothers  of  the  mystic  tie  J 
Ye  favour'd,  ye  enlighten 'd  few, 

Companions  of  my  .social  joy.! 


Tho'  I  to  foreign  lands  must  hie, 
Pursuing  Fortune's  slidd'ry  ba', 

With  melting  heart,  and  brimful  eye; 
I'll  mind  you  still,  tho'  far  awa'. 

Oft  have  I  met  your  social  band, 

And  spent  the  cheerful,  festive  night; 
Oft,  honour'd  with  supreme  command, . 

Presided  o'er  the  sons  of  light : 
And  by  that  hieroglyphic  bright, 

Which  none  but  craftsmen  ever  saw  ! 
Strong  mem'ry  on  my  heart  shall  write 

Those  happy  scenes  when  far  awa' ! 

May  freedom,  harmony,  and  love, 

Unite  you  in  the  grand  design, 
Beneath  th\  Omniscient  eye  above, 

The  glorious  Architect  Divine ! 
That  you  may  keep  th'  unerring  line, 

Still  rising  by  the  plummet's  law, 
Till  Order  bright,  completely  shine, 

Shall  be  my  pray'r  when  far  awa*. 

And  You,  farewell  !. whose  merits  claim, 

Justly,  that  highest  badge  to  wear  ! 
Heav'n  bless  yOur  honour'd,  noble  name, 

To  Masonry  and  Scotia  dear  ! 
A  last  request  permit  me  here> 

When  yearly  ye  assemble  a', 
One  round,  I  ask  it  with  a  tear, 

To  him,  the  Bard  that's  far  awa*. 


AND  MAUN  I  STILL  ON  MENIE 
DOAT. 

Tune—'  Jockey's  grey  breeks,* 

Again  rejoicing  nature  sees.. 

Her  robe  assume  its  vernal  hues, 
Her  leafy  locks  wave  in  the  breeze, 

All  freshly  steep'd  iii  morning  dews? 

CHORUS. 

And  maun  T  still  on  Menie  doat, 
And  bear  the  scorn  that's  in  her  e'e  ? 

For  it's  jet,  jet  black,  an'  it's  like  a  hawk, 
An'  j&  winna  let  a  body  be  ! 

In  vain  to  me  the  cowslips  blaw, 
In  vain  to  me  the  vi'lets  spring ; 

In  vain  to  me,  in  glen  or  shaw, 
The  mavis  and  the  lintwhite  sing. 
'  And  maun  I  still,  &c. 


^26 


AULD  LANG  SYNE. 


The  merry  ploughboy  cheers  his  team, 
Wi'  joy  the  tentie  seedsman  stalks, 

But  life  to  me's  a  weary  dream, 
A  dream  of  ane  that  never  wauks. 
And  maun  I  still,  &c. 

The  wanton  coot  the  water  skims, 
Amang  the  reeds  the  ducklings  cry. 

The  stately  swan  majestic  swims, 
And  every  thing  is  blest  but  I. 
And  maun  I  still,  &c. 

The  sheep-herd  steeks  his  faulding  slap, 
And    owre  the  moorlands  whistles 
shill, 
Wi'  wild,  unequal,  wand' ring  step 
I  meet  him  on  the  dewy  hill. 
And  maun  I  still,  &c. 

And  when  the  lark,  'tween  light  and 
dark, 
Blythe  waukens  by  the  daisy's  side, 
And    mounts    and   sings    on   flittering 
wings, 
A  woe-worn  ghaist  I  hameward  glide. 
And  maun  I  still,  &c. 

Come  Winter,  with  thine  angry  howl, 

And  raging  bend  the  naked  tree  ; 
Thy  gloom  will  soothe  my  cheerless  soul, 
When  Nature  all  is  sad  like  me  ! 
And  maun  I  still  on  Menie  doat, 
And  bear  the  scorn  that's  in  her 
e'e? 
For  it's  jet,  jet  black,  an'  it's  like  a 
hawk, 
An'  it  winna  let  a  body  be ! 


HIGHLAND  MARY. 

Tun e — '  Ka tha rote  Ogie. ' 

Y-E  banks,  and  braes,  and  streams  around 

The  castle  o'  Montgomery, 
Green  be  your  woods,   and  fair  your 
flowers, 

Your  waters  never  drumlie  ! 
There  simmer  first  unfauld  her  robes, 

And  there  the  langest  tarry ; 
For  there  I  took  the  last  fareweel 

O'  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 


How  sweetly  bloom'd  the  gay  green  birk* 

How  rich  the  hawthorn's  blossom, 
As  underneath  their  fragrant  shade 

I  clasp'd  her  to  my  bosom  ! 
The  golden  hours,  on  angel  wings, 

Flew  o'er  me  and  my  dearie  ; 
For  dear  to  me*  as  light  and  life, 

Was  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

Wi'  monie  a  vow,  and  lock'd  embrace, 

Our  parting  was  fu'  tender ; 
And,  pledging  aft  to  meet  again, 

We  tore  oursels  asunder ; 
But  oh  !  fell  death's  untimely  frost, 

That  nipt  my  flower  sae  early  ! 
Now  green's  the  sod,  and  cauld's  the 
clay, 

That  wraps  my  Highland  Mary  I 

O  pale,  pale  now,  those  rosy  lips, 

I  aft  hae  kiss'd  sae  fondly  ! 
And  closed  for  ay  the  sparkling  glance, 

That  dwelt  on  me  sae  kindly  ! 
And  mould'ring  now  in  silent  dust, 

That  heart  that  lo'ed  me  dearly  ! 
But  still  within  my  bosom's  core 

Shall  live  my  Highland  Mary. 


AULD  LANG  SYNE. 

Should  auld  acquaintance  \>e  forgot, 
And  never  brought  to  min'  ? 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 
And  days  o'  lang  syne  ? 

CHORUS. 
For  auld  lang  syne,  my  dear, 

For  auld  lang  syne, 
We'll  talc  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet, 

For  auld  lang  syne. 

We  twa  hae  run  about  the  braes, 

And  pu'd  the  go  wans  fine , 
But  we've  wander'd  mony  a  weary  foot 

Sin  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld,  &c. 

We  twa  hae  paidl't  i'  the  burn, 
From  mornin  sun  till  dine  ; 

But  seas  between  us  braid  hae  roar'd 
Sin  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld,  &c. 


BANNOCKBURM 


227 


And  here's  a  hand,  my  trusty  fiere, 

And  gie's  a  hand  o'  thine  ; 
And  we'll  tak  a  right  guid  willie-waught, 

For  auid  lang  syne. 
For  auld,  &c. 

And  surely  ye'll  be  your  pint-stowp, 

And  surely  I'll  be  mine  ; 
And  we'll  tak  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet 

For  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld,  &c. 

BANNOCKBURN. 

ROBERT   BRUCE'S   ADDRESS  TO   HIS   ARM-V. 

Tune—  'Hey  tuttie  tattle* 

Scots,  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled, 
Scots,  wham  Bruce  has  aften  led ; 
Welcome  to  your  gory  bed, 
Or  to  glorious  victorie. 

Now's  the  day,  and  now's  the  hour  ; 
See  the  front  o'  battle  lower  ; 
See  approach  proud  Edward's  power — 
Edward  !  chains  and  slaverie  ! 

Wha  will  be  a -traitor  knave  ? 
Wha  can  fill  a  coward's  grave  ? 
Wha  sae  base  as  be  a  slave  ? 
Traitor  !  coward  !  turn  and  flee  ! 

Wha  for  Scotland's  King  and  law 
Freedom's  sword  will  strongly  draw, 
Free-man  stand,  or  free-man  fa'  ? 
Caledonian  !  on  wi'  me  ! 

By  oppression's  woes  and  pains  ! 
By  your  sons  in  servile  chains  ! 
We  will  drain  our  dearest  veins, 
But  they  shall — they  shall  be  free  ! 

Lay  the  proud  usurpers  low  ! 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe  ! 
Liberty's  in  every  blow  ! 
Forward  !  let  us  do,  or  die  ! 

THE  GALLANT  WEAVER. 

Tune — '  The  auld  wife  ayont  tlie  Jire,y 

Where  Cart  rins  rowin  to  the  sea, 
By  monie  a  flow'r  and  spreading  tree, 
There  lives  a  lad,  the  lad  for  me, 
He  is  a  gallant  weaver. 


Oh  I  had  wooers  aught  or  nine, 
They  gied  me  rings  and  ribbons  fine ; 
And  1  was  fear'd  my  heart  would  tine, 
And  I  gied  it  to  the  weaver. 

My  daddie  sign'd  my  tocher-band, 
To  gie  the  lad  that  has  the  land ; 
But  to  ray  heart  I'll  add  my  hand, 
And  gie  it  to  the  weaver. 

While  birds  rejoice  in  leafy  bowers ; 
While  bees  rejoice  in  opening  flowers ; 
While    corn  grows   green   in   simmer 
showers, 
I'll  love  my  gallant  weaver. 


SONG. 

Anna,  thy  charms  my  bosom  (ire, 
And  waste  my  soul  with  care  ; 

But  ah  !  how*  bootless  to  admire, 
When  fated  to  despair  ! 

Yet  in  thy  presence,  lovely  fair, 
To  hope  may  be  forgiven  ; 

For  sure,  'twere  impious  to  despair 
So  much  in  sight  of  heaven. 


FOR  A'  THAT  AND  A'  THAT. 

Is  there,  for  honest  poverty, 

That  hangs  his  head,  and  a'  that? 
The  coward-slave,  we  pass  him  by, 
We  dare  be  poor  for  a'  that ! 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

Our  toils  obscure,  and  a'  that ; 

The  rank  is  but  the  guinea  stamp  ; 

The  man's  the  gowd  for  a'  that. 

What  tho'  on  namely  fare  we  dine, 
Wear  hodden-grey,  and  a'  that ; 
Gie  fools  their  silks,  and  knaves  their, 
wine, 
A  man 's  a  man  for  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

Their  tinsel  show,  and  a*  that ; 
The  honest  man,  tho*  e'er  sae  pool 
Is  King  o'  men  for  a'  that 


228 


DAINTY  DA  VIE. 


Ye  see  yon  birkie,  ca'd  a  lord, 

Wha  struts,  and  stares,  and  a'  that ; 
Tho'  hundreds  worship  at  his  word, 
He's  but  a  coof  for  a'  that : 
For  a*  that,  and  a'  that, 

His  riband,  star,  and  a'  that, 
The  man  of  independent  mind, 
He  looks  and  laughs  at  a'  that. 

A  prince  can  mak  a  belted  knight, 

A  marquis,  duke,  and  a'  that  j 
But  an  honest  man's  aboon  his  might, 
Guid  faith  he  mauna  fa'  that ! 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

Their  dignities,  and  a'  that, 
The  pith  o'  sense,  and  pride  o' 
worth, 
Are  higher  rank  than  a1  that. 

Then  let  us  pray  that  come  it  may, 

As  come  it  will  for  a'  that ; 
That  sense  and  worth,  o'er  a'  the  earth, 
May  bear  the  gree,  and  a'  that. 
For  a'  tha'-  and  a'  that, 

It's  coming  yet,  for  a'  that, 
That  man  to  man,  the  warld  o'er, 
Shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that. 


DAINTY  DAVIE. 

Now  rosy  May  comes  in  wf  flowers. 
To    deck    her    gay,    green    spreading 

bowers ; 
And  now  comes  in  my  happy  hours, 
To  wander  wi'  my  Davie. 

CHORUS. 
Meet  me  on  the  warlock  knowe', 

Dainty  Davie,  dainty  Davie, 
There  I'll  spend  the  day  wi'  you, 

My  ain  dear  dainty  Davie. 

The  crystal  waters  round  us  fa', 
The  merry  birds  are  lovers  a', 
The  scented  breezes  round  us  blaw, 
A  wandering  wi'  my  Davie. 

Meet  me,  &c. 

When  purple  morning  starts  the  hare, 
To  steal  upon  her  early  fare, 
Then  through  the  dews  I  will  repair, 
To  meet  my  faithfu'  Davie. 

Meet  me,  &C. 


When  day,  expiring  in  the  west, 
The  curtain  draws  o'  Nature's  rest, 
I  flee  to  his  arms  I  lo'e  best, 
And  that's  my  ain  dear  Davre. 

Meet  me,  &c. 

TO  MR.  CUNNINGHAM, 

Tune—*  The  hopeless  lover.* 

Now  spring  has  clad  the  groves  in  green, 

And  strew'd  the  lea  wi'  flowers  ; 
The  furrow'd  waving  corn  is  seen 

Rejoice  in  fostering  showers  ; 
While  ilka  thing  in  nature  join 

Their  sorrows  to  forego, 
O  why  thus  all  alone  are  mine 

The  weary  steps  of  woe  ! 

The  trout  within  yon  wimpling  burn 

Glides  swift,  a  silver  dart, 
And  safe  beneath  the  shady  thorn 

Defies  the  angler's  art : 
My  life  was  once  that  careless  stream, 

That  wanton  trout  was  I ; 
But  love,  wi'  unrelenting  beam, 

Has  scorch'd  my  fountain  dry. 

The  little  flow'ret's  peaceful  lot, 

In  yonder  cliff  that  grows, 
Which,  save  the  linnet's  flight,  I  wot, 

Nae  ruder  visit  knows, 
Was  mine  ;  till  love  has  o'er  me  past, 

And  blighted  a'  my  bloom, 
And  now  beneath  the  withering  blast 

My  youth  and  joy  consume. 

The  waken'd  lav'rock  warbling  springs, 

And  climbs  the  early  sky, 
Winnowing  blithe  her  dewy  wings 

In  morning's  rosy  eye  ; 
As  little  reckt  I  sorrow's  power, 

Until  the  flowery  snare 
O'  witching  love,  in  luckless  hour, 

Made  me  the  thrall  o'  care. 

O  had  my  fate  been  Greenland's  snows 

Or  Afric's  burning  zone, 
Wi'  man  and  nature  leagu'd  my  foes, 

So  Peggy  ne'er  I'd  known  ! 
The  wretch  whase  doom  is,  "  Hope  nae 
mair  !  " 

What  tongue  his  woes  can  tell ! 
Within  whose  bOsora,  save  despair, 

Nae  kinder  spirits  dwell. 


CALEDONIA. 


229 


CLARINDA. 

Clarinda,  mistress  of  my- soul, 
The  measured  time  is  run ! 

The  wretch  beneath  the  dreary  pole 
Sc  marks  his  latest  sun. 

To  what  dark  cave  of  frozen  night 
Shall  poor  Sylvander  hie  ; 

Depriv'd  of  thee,  his  life  and  light, 
The  sun  of  all  his  joy  ? 

We  part — but  by  these  precious  drops 

That  fill  thy  lovely  eyes  ! 
No  other  light  shall  guide  my  steps 

Till  thy  bright  beams  arise. 


She,  the  fair  sun  of  all  her  sex, 
Has  blest  my  glorious  day  : 

And  shall  a  glimmering  planet  fix 
My  worship  to  its  ray  ? 

WHY,  WHY  TELL  THY  LOVER. 

Tune — '  Caledonian  Hunt's  delight,* 

Why,  why  tell  thy  *over, 

Bliss  he  never  must  enjoy? 
Why,  why  undeceive  him. 

And  give  all  his  hopes  the  lie  ? 

O  why,  while  fancy,  raptur'd,  slumbers, 
Chloris,  Chloris  all  the  theme  ! 

Why,  why  wouldst  thou,  cruel, 
Wake  thy  lover  from  his  dreamt 


CALEDONIA. 

TUNB— '  Caledonian  Hunt's  delight. 

There  was  once  a  day,  but  old  Time  then  was  young, 

That  brave  Caledonia,  the  chief  of  her  line, 
From  some  of  your  northern  deities  sprung  : 

(Who  knows  not  that  brave  Caledonia's  divine?) 
From  Tweed  to  the  Orcades  was  her  domain, 

To  hunt,  or  to  pasture,  or  do  what  she  would  : 
Her  heavenly  relations  there  fixed  her  reign, 

And  pledg'd  her  their  godheads  to  warrant  it  good. 

A  lambkin  in  peace,  but  a  lion  in  war, 

The  pride  of  her  kindred  the  heroine  grew  ; 
Her  grandsire,  old  Odin  triumphantly  swore, 

*  Whoe'er  shall  provoke  thee,  th'  encounter  shall  rue  ! ' 
With  tillage  or  pasture  at  times  she  would  sport;, 

To  feed  her  fair  flocks  by  her  green  rustling  corn : 
But  chiefly  the  woods  were  her  fav'rite  resort, 

Her  darling  amusement,  the  hounds  and  the  horn. 

Long  quiet  she  reign'd  ;  till  thitherward  steers 

A  flight  of  bold  eagles  from  Adria's  strand  ; 
Repeated,  successive,  for  many  long  years, 

They  darken' d  the  air,  and  they  plundered  the  land. 
Their  pounces  were  murder,  and  terror  their  cry, 

They  conquer' d  and  ruin'd  a  world  beside ; 
She  took  to  her  hills,  and  her  arrows  let  fly, 

The  daring  invaders  they  fled  or  they  died. 

The  fell  Harpy-raven  took  wing  from  the  north, 

The  scourge  of  the  seas,  and  the  dread  of  the  shore ; 

The  wild  Scandinavian  boar  issu'd  forth 
To  wanton  in  carnage  and  wallow  in  gore-* 


2JO 


ON  THE  BA  TTLE  OF  SHERIFFMU/R. 


O'er  countries  and  kingdoms  their  fury  prevail'd, 
No  arts  could  appease  them,  no  arms  could  repel  • 

But  brave  Caledonia  in  vain  they  assail'd, 

As  Largs  well  can  witness,  and  Loncartie  tell. 

The  Cameleon-savage  disturb'd  her  repose, 

With  tumult,  disquiet,  rebellion,  and  strife ; 
Provok'd  beyond  bearing,  at  last  she  arose, 

And  robb  d  him  at  once  of  his  hopes  and  his  life  : 
The  Anglian  lion,  the  terror  of  France, 

Oft  prowling,  ensanguin'd  the  Tweed's  silver  flood  ; 
But,  taught  by  the  bright  Caledonian  lance, 

He  learned  to  fear  in  his  own  native  wood. 

Thus  bold,  independent,  unconquer'd,  and  free, 

Her  bright  course  of  glory  for  ever  shall  run  ; 
For  brave  Caledonia  immortal  must  be ; 

I'll  prove  it  from  Euclid  as  clear  as  the  sun  : 
Rectangle-triangle,  the  figure  we'll  choose, 

The  upright  is  Chance,  and  old  Time  is  the  base  ; 
But  brave  Caledonia's  the  hypothenuse  ; 

Then  ergo,  she'll  match  them,  and  match  them  always. 


ON  THE  BATTLE  OF  SHERIFF- 
MUIK, 

BETWEEN  THE  DUKE  OF  ARGYLE  AND  THE 
EARL  OF  MAR. 

Tune — '  The  Cameronian  rant." 

4  O  CAM  ye  here  the  figlft  to  shun, 

Or  herd  the  shf-ep  wi'  mc,  man  ? 
Or  were  you  at  the  Sherra-muir, 
And  did  the  battle  see,  man  ? ' 
I  saw  the  battle,  sair  and  teugh, 
And  reeking-red  ran  monie  a  sheugh, 
My  heart,  for  fear,  gae  sough  for  sough, 
To  hear  the  thuds,  and  see  the  cluds 
O'  clans  frae  woods,  in  tartan  duds, 
Wha  glaum'd  at    Kingdoms   three, 
man. 


The  red  coat  lads,  wi'  black  c./ckades, 
To  meet  them  were  na  slaw,  man  ; 

They  rush'd  and  push'd,  and  blude  out- 
gush'd, 
And  monie  a  bouk  did  fa',  man : 

And  great  Argyle  led  on  his  files, 

\  wat  they  glanced  twenty  miles ; 


They  hack'd  and  hash'd,  while  broad* 

swords  clash'd, 
And  thro'  they  dash'ck  and  hew'd'and 

smash'd, 
Till  fey  men  died  awa,  man. 

But  had  you  seen  the  philibegs, 
And  skyrin  tartan  trews,  man, 
When  in  the  teeth  they  dar'd  our  whigs, 

And  covenant  true  blues,  man  ; 
In  lines  extended  lang  and  large, 
When  bayonets  oppos'd  the  targe, 
And  thousands  hasten'd  to  the  charge, 
Wi'  Highland  wrath  they  frae  the  sheath 
Drew  blades  o'  death,  till,  out  of  breath, 
They  fled  like  frighted  doos,  man. 

*  O  how  deil,  Tarn,  can  that  be  true? 

The  chase  gaed  frae  the  north,  man.: 
I  saw  mysel,  they  did  pursue 

The  horsemen  back  to  Forth,  man  ; 
And  at  Dumblane,  in  my  ain  sight, 
They  took  the  brig  wi'  a  their  might, 
And  straught  to  Stirling  wing'd  their 

flight ; 
But,  cursed  lot !  the  gates  were  shut, 
And  monie  a  huntit,  poor  red-coat, 

For  fear  amaist  did  swarf,  ma^i/ 


O  V/HA  IS  SHE  THAT  LO'ES  ME  t 


23t 


My  sister  Kate  cam  up  the  gate 

Wi'  crowdie  unto  me,  man  ; 
She  swore  she  saw  some  rebels  run 
Frae  Perth  unto  Dundee,  man  : 
Their  left-hand  general  had  nae  skill, 
The  Angus  lads  had  nae  guid-will, 
That  day  their  neebors'  blood  to  spill ; 
For  fear,  by  foes,  that  they  should  lose 
Their  cogs  o'  brose  ;  all  crying  woes, 
And  so  it  goes,  you  see,  man. 

They've"  lost  some  gallant  gentlemen 
Amang  the  Highland  clans,  man ; 

I  fear  my  lord  Panmure  is  slain, 
Or  fallen  in  whiggish  hands,  man  : 

Now  wad  ye  sing  this  double  fight, 

Some  fell  for  wrang,  and  some  for  right ; 

But  monie  bade  the  world  guid-night ; 

Then  ye  may  tell,  how  pell  and  mell, 

By  red  claymores,  and  muskets*  knell, 

YVi'  dying  yell,  the  tories  fell, 
And  whigs  to  hell  did  flee,  man. 


THE  DUMFRIES  VOLUNTEERS. 

1*une — 'Push  about  the  jorum.' 

April,  1759. 

Does  haughty  Gaul  invasion  threat  ? 

Then  let  the  loons  beware,  Sir, 
There's  wooden  walls  upon  our  seas, 

And  volunteers  on  shore,  Sir. 
The  Nith  shall  run  to  Corsincon, 

And  Cxiflel  sink  to  Sol  way, 
Ere  we  permit  a  foreign  foe 

On  British  ground  to  rally  ! 

Fal  de  ral,  &c. 

O  let  us  not  like  snarling  tykes 

In  wrangling  be  divided  ; 
Till,  slap,  come  in  an  unco  loon 

And  wi'  a  rung  decide  it. 
Be  Britain  still  to  Britain  true, 

Amang  oursels  united  ; 
For  never  but  by  British  hands 

Maun  British  wrangs  be  righted  ! 

Fal  de  ral,  &c. 

The  kettle  o'  the  kirk  and  state, 
Perhaps  a  claut  may  fail  in't ; 

But  deil  a  foreign  tinkler  loon 
Shall  ever  ca  a  nail  in't 


Our  fathers'  bluid  the  kettle  bought, 
And  wha  wad  dare  to  spoil  it ; 

By  heaven,  the  sacrilegious  dog 
Shall  fuel  be  to  boil  it. 

Fal  deral,  &c, 

The  wretch  that  wad  a  tyrant  own, 

.  And  the  wretch  his  true-born  brother, 
Who  would  set  the  mob  aboon  the 
throne, 
May  they  be  damned  together  ! 
Who  will  not  sing,  *  God  save  the  King,* 

Shall  hang  as  high's  the  steeple  ; 
But  while  we  sing,  *  God  save  the  King,' 
We'll  ne'er  forget  the  People. 


O  WHA  IS  SHE  THAT  LO'ES 
ME? 

Tune—  l  Morag.' 

O  wha  is  she  that  lo'es  me, 
And  has  my  heart  a-keeping  ? 

O  sweet  is  she  that  lo'es  me, 
As  dews  o'  simmer  weeping, 
In  tears  the  rose-buds  steeping. 

chorus. 
O  that*s  the  lassie  o'  my  heart, 

My  lassie  ever  dearer ; 
O  that's  the  queen  o'  womankind, 

Anil  ne'er  a  ane  to  peer  her. 

If  thou  shalt  meet  a  lassie, 

In  grace  and  beauty  charming, 

That  e'en  thy  chosen  lassie, 

Erewhile  thy  breast  sae  warming, 
Had  ne'er  sic  powers  alarming  ; 
O  that's,  &c. 

If  thou  hadst  heard  her  talking, 
And  thy  attentions  plighted, 

That  ilka  body  talking, 
But  her  by  thee  is  slighted, 
And  thou  art  all  delighted  ; 
O  that's,  &c. 

If  thou  hast  met  this  fair  one  ; 
When  frae  her  thou  hast  parted, 

If  every  other  fair  one, 

But  her,  thou  hast  deserted, 
And  thou  art  broken-hearted  ; 
O  that's.  &c. 


232 


Ot  ONCE  I  LOV'D  A  BON  IE  LASS, 


CAPTAIN  GROSE. 

Meg  was  meek,  and  Meg  was  mild, 

Bonie  Meg  was  nature's  child — 

Tune—'  Sir  John  Malcolm.' 

Wiser  men  than  me's  beguil'd  ; — 

Ken  ye  ought  o'  Captain  Grose  ? 

Whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 

Igo,  and  ago, 

How  we  live,  my  Meg  and  me, 

If  he's  amang  his  friends  or  foes  ? 

How  we  love  and  how  we  }gree, 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 

I  care  na  by  how  few  may  see — 

Whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 

Is  he  South,  or  is  he  North  ? 

Igo,  and  ago, 

Wha  I  wish  were  maggots'  meat, 

Or  drowned  in  the  river  Forth  ? 

Dish'd  up  in  her  winding  sheet, 

,  Iram,  coram,  dago. 

I  could  write— but  Meg  maun  see't  — 

Whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 

Is  he  slain  by  Highland  bodies  ? 

Igo,  and  ago, 

0,   ONCE   I    LOV'D  A  BONIE 

And  eaten  like  a  wether-haggis  ? 

LASS. 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 

Tune — '  I  am  a  Man  unmarried* 

Is  he  to  Abram's  bosom  gane  ? 

O,  once  I  lov'd  a  bonie  lass, 

Igo,  and  ago, 

Ay,  and  I  love  her  still, 

Or  haudin  Sarah  by  the  wame  ? 

And  whilst  that  virtue  warms  my  breast 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 

I'll  love  my  handsome  Nell. 

Fal  lal  de  ral,  &c, 

Where'er  he  be,  the  Lord  be  near  him ! 

As  bonie  lasses  I  hae  seen, 

Igo,  and  ago, 
As  for  the  deil,  he  daur  na  steer  him. 

And  monie  full  as  braw, 
But  for  a  modest  gracefu'  mier» 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 

The  like  I  never  saw. 

But  please  transmit  th'  enclosed  letter, 

A  bonie  lass,  I  will  confess, 

Igo,  and  ago, 

Is  pleasant  to  the  ee, 

Which  will  oblige  your  humble  debtor. 

But  without  "some  better  qualities 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 

She's  no  a  lass  for  me. 

So  may  ye  hae  auld  stanes  in  store, 

Igo,  and  ago, 
The  very  stanes  that  Adam  bore. 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 

But  Nelly's  looks  are  blithe  and  sweet, 

And  what  is  best  of  a', 
Her  reputation  is  complete, 

And  fair  without  a  flaw. 

She  dresses  aye  sae  clean  and  neat, 

So  may  ye  get  in  glad  possession, 

Both  decent  and  genteel : 

Igo,  and  ago, 

And  then  there's  something  in  her  gait 

The  coins  o'  Satan's  coronation  ! 

Gars  onie  dress  look  weel. 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 

A  gaudy  dress  and  gentle  air 

May  slightly  touch  the  heart, 

But  it's  innocence  and  modesty 

WHISTLE   OWRE   THE 

That  polishes  the  dart. 

LAVE    O'T. 

'Tis  this  in  Nelly  pleases  me, 

First  when  Maggy  was  my  care, 

'Tis  this  enchants  my  soul  ! 

Heaven,  I  thought,  was  in  her  air  ; 

For  absolutely  in  my  breast 

Now  we're  married — spier  nae  mair — 
Whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 

She  reigns  without  control. 

Fal  lal  de  ral,  &c. 

THE  DEAN  OF  FACULTY, 


233 


YOUNG  JOCKEY. 

Young  Jockey  was  the  blithest  lad 

In  a'  our  town  or  here  awa  ; 
Fu'  blithe  he  whistled  at  the' gaud, 

Fu'  lightly  danc'd  he  in  the  ha'  ! 
He  roos'd  my  een  sae  bonie  blue, 

He  roos'd  my  waist  sae  genty  sma' ; 
An'  aye  my  heart  came  to  my  mou, 

When  ne'er  a  body  heard  or  saw. 

My  Jockey  toils  upon  the  plain, 
Thro'   wind    and  weed,    thro'   frost 
and  snaw  ; 

And  o'er  the  lea  I  look  fu'  fain 

When  Jockey's  owsen  hameward  ca'. 

An'  aye  the  night  comes  round  again, 

.  When  in  his  arms  he  takes  me  a' ; 

An'  aye  he  vows  he'll  be  my  ain 
As  lang'o  he  has  a  breath  to  draw. 


•  M'PHERSON'S  FAREWELL. 

FAREWELL,ye  dungeons  dark  and  strong, 

The  wretch's  destinie : 
M  'Pherson's  time  will  not  be  long 

On  yonder  gallows  tree. 

CHORUS. 
Sae  rantingly,  sae  wantonly, 

Sae  dauntingly  gaed  he  ; 
He  play'd  a  spring  and  danc'd   it 
round, 
Below  the  gallows  tree. 

Oh,  what  is  death  but  parting  breath?— 

On  monie  a  bloody  plain 
I've  dar'd  his  face,  and  in  this  place 

I  scorn  him  yet  again  ! 

Sae  rantingly,  &c. 

Untie  these  bands  from  off  my  hands, 
And  bring  to  me  my  sword  ! 

And  there's  no  a  man  in  all  Scotland, 
But  I'll  brave  him  at  a  word. 
Sae  rantingly,  &c. 

I've  liv'd  a  life  of  sturt  and  strife  ; 

I  die  by  treacherie  : 
It  burns  my  heart  I  must  depart 

And  not  avenged  be. 

Sae  rantingly,  &c. 


Now  farewell  light,  thou  sunshine  bright, 

And  all  beneath  the  sky  ! 
May  coward  shame  distain  his  name, 

The  wretch  that  dares  not  die  ! 
Sae  rantingly,-  &c. 

THE  DEAN    OF   FACULTY. 

A  NEW  BALLAD. 

Tune—'  Tke  Dragon  pf  IVaniley.1 

Dire  was  the  hate  at  old  Harlaw 

That  Scot  to  Scot  did  carry; 
And  dire  the  discord  Langside  saw, 

For  beauteous,  hapless  Mary : 
But  Scot  with  Scot  ne'er  met  so  hot, 

Or  were  more  in  fury  seen,  Sir, 
Than  'twixt  Hal  and  Bob  for  the  famous 
job — 

Who  should  be  Faculty's  Dean,  Sir. 

This  Hal  for  genius,  wii   and  lore, 

Among  the  first  was  number'd ; 
But  pious  Bob,  'mid  learning's  store, 

Commandment  the  tenth  remember'd. 
Yet  simple  Bob  the  victory  got, 

And  won  his  heart's  desire ; 
Which  shews  that  heaven  can  boil  the  pot, 

Though  the  devil  piss  in  the  fire. 

Squire  Hal  besides  had,  in  this  case, 

Pretensions  rather  brassy, 
For  talents  to  deserve  a  place 

Are  qualifications  saucy ; 
So  their  worships  of  the  Faculty, 

Quite  sick  of  merit's  rudeness, 
Chose  one  who  should  owe  it  all,  d'ye  see, 

To  their  gratis  grace  and  goodness. 

As  once  on  Pisgah  purg'd  was  the  sight 

Of  a  son  of  Circumcision, 
So  may  be,  on  this  Pisgah  height, 

Bob's  purblind,  mental  vision ; 
Nay,  Bobby's  mouth  may  be  open'd  yet, 

Till  for  eloquence  you  hail  him, 
And  swear  he  has  the  Angel  met 

That  met  the  Ass  of  Balaam. 

In  your  heretic  sins  may  ye  live  and  die, 

Ye  heretic  eight  and  thirty  ! 
But  accept,  ye  sublime  Majority, 

My  congratulations  hearty. 
With  your  Honors  and  a  certain  King, 

In  your  servants  this  is  striking — 
The  more  incapacity  they  bring, 

The  more  they're  to  your  liking. 


234 


ON  CESSNOCK  BANKS. 


I'LL  AY  CA'  IN  BY  YON  TOWN. 

I'LL  ay  ca'  in  by  yon  town, 

And  by  yon  garden  green  again  ; 

I'll  ay  ca'  in  by  yon  town, 
And  See  my  bonie  Jean  again. 

There's  nane  sail  ken,  there's  nane  sail 
guess, 

What  brings  me  back  the  gate  agaia, 
But  she,  my  fairest  faithfu'  lass, 

And  stownlins  we  sail  meet  again. 

She'll  wander  by  the  aiken  tree 

When  trystin-time  draws  near  again ; 
And  when  her  lovely  form  I  see, 

0  haith,  she's  doubly  deal  again ! 

A  BOTTLE  AND  FRIEND. 

Here's  a  bottle  and  an  honest  friend  ! 

What  wad  ye  wish  for  mair,  man  ? 
Wha  kens,  before  his  life  may"  end, 

What  his  share  may  be  o'  care,  man  ? 
Then  catch  the  moments  as  they  fly, 

And  use  them  as  ye  ought,  man  : — 
Believe  me,  happiness  is  shy, 

And  comes  not  ay  when  sought,  man. 

I'LL  KISS  THEE  YET. 
Tune—'  The  Braes  d  Balquhidder* 

CHORUS. 
I'll  kiss  thee  yet,  yet, 

And  I'll  kiss  thee  o'er  again, 
An'  I'll  kiss  thee  yet,  yet, 
My  bonie  Peggy  Alison  ! 

Ilk  care  and  fear,  when  thou  art  near, 

1  ever  mair  defy  them,  O ; 
Young  Kings  upon  their  hansel  throne 

Are  no  sae  blest  as  I  am,  O  ! 
I'll  kis§  thee,  &c. 

When  in  my  arms,  wi'  a'  thy  charms, 
I  clasp  my  countless  treasure,  O  ; 

I  seek  nae  mair  o'  Heaven  to  share, 
Than  sic  a  moment's  pleasure,  O  ! 
I'll  kiss  thee,  &c. 

And  by  thy  een  sae  bonie  blue, 
I  swear  I'm  thine  for  ever,  O  ;— 

And  on  thy  lips  I  seal  my  vow, 
And  break  it  shall  I  never,  O  ! 
I'll  kiss  thee,  &c. 


ON   CESSNOCK  BANKS. 

Tune—'  1/ he  be  a  Butcher  neat  and  trim* 

On  Cessnock  banks  a  lassie  dwells  ; 

Could  I  describe  her  shape  and  mien ; 
Our  lasses  a'  she  far  excels, 

An'  she  has  twa  sparkling  rogueish 
een. 

She's  sweeter  than  the  morning  dawn 
WThen  rising  Phcebus  first  is  seen, 

And  dew-drops  twinkle  o'er  the  lawn  ; 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling  rogueish 
een. 

.She's  stately  like  yon  youthful  ash 
That  grows  the  cowslip  braes  between, 

And  drinks  the  stream  with  vigour  fresli ; 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling  rogueish 
een. 

She's  spotless,  like  the  flow'ring  thorn 
With  flow'rs  so  white  and  leaves  so 
green, 
When  pucest  in  the  dewy  morn  ; 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling  rogueish 
een. 

Her  looks  are  like  the  vernal  May, 
When  ev'ning  Phcebus  shines  serene, 

While  birds  rejoice  on  every  spray  ; 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling  rogueish 
een. 

Her  hair  is  like  the  curling  mist 
That   climbs   the   mountain-sides  at 
e'en, 
When  flow'r-reviving  rains  are  past ; 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling  rogueish 
een. 

Her  forehead's  like  the  show'ry  bow, 
When  gleaming  sunbeams  intervene 

And  gild  the  distant  mountain's  brow; 
An    she  has  twa' sparkling  rogueish 
een. 

Her  cheeks  are  like  yon  crimson  gem, 
The  pride  of  all  the  flowery  scene, 

Just  opening  on  its  thorny  stem  ; 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling  rogueish 
een. 


YOUNG  PEGGY. 


235 


Her  teeth  are  like  the  nightly  snow 

When  pale  the  morning  rises  keen, 
While  hid   the   murmuring    streamlets 
flow; 
An*  she  has  twa  sparkling  rogueish 
een. 

Her  lips  are  like  yon  cherries  ripe, 

That  surury  walls  from  Boreas  screen ; 
They  tempt  the  taste  and  charm  the 
sight ; 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling  rogueish 
een. 

Her  teeth  are  like  a  flock  of  sheep, 
With  fleeces  newly  washen  clean, 

That  slowly  mount  the  rising  steep  : 
An*  she  has  twa  glancin'  sparklin' 
een. 

"Her  breath  is  like  the  fragrant  breeze 
That  gently  stirs  the  blossom'd  bean, 

When  Phcebus  sinks  behind  the  seas  ; 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling  rogueish 
een. 

Her  voice  is  like  the  ev'ning  thrush 
That  sings  on  Cessnock  banks  unseen, 

While  his  mate  sits  nestling  in  the  bush; 
An'  she  has  twa  sparkling  rogueish 
een. 

But  it's  not  her  air,  her  form,  her  face, 
Tho*  matching  beauty's  fabled  queen, 

'Tis    the    mind    that    shines    in  ev'ry 
grace, 
An'  chiefly  in  her  rogueish  een. 


PRAYER  FOR  MARY. 
Tune—*  Blue  Bonnets.* 

Powers  celestial,  whose  protection 

Ever  guards  the  virtuous  fair, 
While  in  distant  climes  I  wander, 

Let  my  Mary  be  your  care  : 
Let  her  form  sae  fair  and  faultless, 

Fair  and  faultless  as  your  own  ; 
Let- my  Mary's  kindred  spirit 

Draw  your  choicest  influence  down. 


Make  the  gales  you  waft  around  her 

Soft  and  peaceful  as  her  breast ; 
Breathing 'in  the  breeze  that  fans  her, 

Soothe  her  bosom  into  rest : 
Guardian  angels,  O  protect  her, 

When  in  distant  lands  I  roam ; 
To  realms  unknown  while  fate  exiles  me, 

Make  her  bosom  still  my  home. 


YOUNG  PEGGY. 

Tune — '  Last  time  I  cant  o'er  the  Mnir* 

YounCx    Peggy  'blooms    our    bonniest 
lass, 

Her  blush  is  like  the  morning, 
The  rosy  dawn,  the  springing  grass, 

With  early  gems  adorning  : 
Her  eyes  outshine  the  radiant  beams 

That  gild  the  passing  shower, 
And  glitter  o'er  the  crystal  streams, 

And  cheer  each  fresh'ning  flower. 

Her  lips  more  than  the  cherries  bright, 

A  richer  dye  has  grac'd  them  ; 
They  charm  th'  admiring  gazer's  sight, 

And  sweetly  tempt  to  taste  them : 
Her  smile  is  as  the  ev'ning  mild, 

When  feather'd  pairs  are  courting, 
And  little  lambkins  wanton  wild, 

In  playful  bands  disporting. 

Were  Fortune  lovely  Peggy's  foe, 

Such  sweetness  would  relent  her, 
As     blooming    Spring     unbends     the 
brow 

Of  surly,  savage  Winter. 
Detraction's  eye  no  aim  can  gain 

Her  winning  powers  to  lessen  ; 
And  fretful  envy  grins  in  vain, 

The  poison' d  tooth  to.  fasten. 

Ye    Pow'rs    of   Honour,    Love,    and 
Truth, 

From  ev'ry  ill  defend  hre ; 
Inspire  the  highly  favour'd  youth 

The  destinies  intend  her ; 
Still  fan  tl>e  sweet  connubial  flame 

Responsive  in  each  bosom ; 
And  bless  the  dear  parental  name 

With  many  a  filial  blossom. 


236 


TO  MARY. 


THERE'LL  NEVER  BE  PEACE  TILL  JAMIE  COMES  HAME. 

A  'SONG. 

By  yon  castle  wa',  at  the  close  of  the  day, 
I  heard  a  man  sing,  tho'  his  head  it  was  grey  : 
And  as  he  was  singing,  the  tears  fast  down  came — 
There'll  never  be  peace  till  Jamie  comes  hame. 

The  church  is  in  ruins,  the  state  is  in  jars, 
Delusions,  oppressions,  and  murderous  wars  ; 
We  dare  na  weel  say't,  but  we  ken  wha's  to  blame — 
There'll  never  be  peace  till  Jamie  comes  hame. 

My  seven  braw  sons  for  Jamie  drew  sword, 
And  now  I  greet  round  their  green  beds  in  the  yerd  ; 
It  brak  the  sweet  heart  o'  my  faith fu'  auld  dame — 
There'll  never  be  peace  till  Jamie  comes  hame. 

Now  life  is  a  burden  that  bows  me  down, 
Sin'  I  tint  my  bairns,  and  he  tint  his  crown ; 
But  till  my  last  moment  my  words  are  the  same— 
There'll  never  be  peace  till  Jamie  comes  hame. 


THERE  WAS  A  LAD. 
Tune—' Dainty  Davie* 

There  was  a  lad  wa9  born  in  Kyle, 
But  what'n  a  day  o'  what'n  a  style 
I  doubt  it's  hardly  worth  the  while 
To  be  sae  nice  wi'  Robin. 

Robin  was  a  rovin'  Boy, 

Rantin'  rovin',  rantin'  rovin' ; 

Robin  was  a  rovin'  Boy, 
Rantin'  rovin'  Robin. 

Our  monarch's  hindmost  year  but  ane 
Was  five-and-twenty  days  begun, 
'Twas  then  a  blast  o'  Janwar  win' 
Blew  hansel  in  on  Robin. 

The  gossip  keekit  in  his  loof, 
Ouo'  scho  vvha  lives  will  see  the  proof, 
This  waly  boy  will  be  nae  coof, 
I  think  we'll  ca'  him  Robin. 

He'll  hae  misfortunes  great  and  sma\ 
But  ay  a  heart  aboon  them  a' ; 
He'll  be  a  credit  till  us  a', 
We'll  a'  be  proud  o'  Robin, 


But  sure  as  three  times  three  mak  nine, 
I  see  by  ilka  score  and  line, 
This  chap  will  dearly  like  our  kin', 
So  leeze  me  on  thee,  Robin. 

Guid  faith,  quo'  scho,  I  doubt  you,  Sir, 
Ye  gar  the  lasses  lie  aspar, 
But  twenty  fauts  ye  may  hae  waur, 
So  blessings  on  thee,  Robin  ! 

Robin  was  a  rovin'  Boy, 

Rantin'  rovin',  rantin'  rovin' ; 
Robin  was  a  rovin'  Boy, 


TO  MARY. 

Tune—' Eive-bughts,  Marion* 

Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary, 
And  leave  auld  Scotia's  shore  ? 

Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary, 
Across  the  Atlantic's  roar  ? 

O  sweet  grows  the  lime  and  the  orange, 

And  the  apple  on  the  pine  ; 
But  a'  the  charms  o'  the  Indies. 


Can  never  equal  thine. 


THE  SOGER'S  RETURN. 


237 


I  hae  sworn  by  the  Heavens  to  my  Mary, 
I  hae  sworn  by  the  Heavens  to  be  true ; 

And  sae  may  the  Heavens  forget  me, 
When  I  forget  my  vow  ! 

O  plight  me  your  faith,  my  Mary, 
And  plight  me  your  lily-white  hand ; 

O  plight  me  your  faith,  .rny  Mary, 
JBefore  I  leave  ScoCia*s  strand. 

We  hae  plighted  our  troth,  my  Mary, 

In  mutual  affection  to  join, 
And  curst  be  the  cause  that  shall  part  us ! 

The  hour,  and  the  moment  o'  time ! 


MARY   MORISON. 
Tune — '  Bide  ye  yet.' 

0  Mary,  at  thy  window  be, 

It  is  the  wish'd,  the  trysted  hour ! 
Those  smiles  and  glances  let  me  see, 

That  make  the  miser's  treasure  poor ; 
How  blythely  wad  I  bide  the  stoure, 

A  weary  slave  frae  sun  to  sun  ; 
Could  I  the  rich  reward  secure, 

The  lovely  Mary  M  orison. 

Yestreen,  when  to  the  trembling  string 
The  dance  gaed  thro'  the  lighted  ha\ 

To  thee  my  fancy  took  its  wing, 
I  sat,  but  neither  heard  or  saw  : 

Tho'  this  was  fair,  and  that  was  braw, 
And  yon  the  toast  of  a'  the  town, 

1  sigh'd,  and  said  amang  them  a'> 

*  Ye  are  na  Mary  Morison.' 

O  Mary,  canst  thou  wreck  his  peace, 

Wha  for  thy  sake  wad  gladly  die? 
Or  canst  thou  break  that  heart  of  his, 

Whase  only  faut  is  loving  thee  ? 
If  love  for  love  thou  wilt  na  gie, 

At  least  be  pity  to  me  shown  ! 
A  thought  ungentle  canna  be 

The  thought  o'  Mary  Morison. 


THE   SODGER'S  RETURN. 

Tune— '  The  Mill  Mill  O? 

When  wild  war's  deadly  blast    was 
blawn, 
And  gentle  peace  returning, 


Wi'  mony  a  sweet  babe  fatherless, 
And  mony  a  widow  mourning  : 

I  left  the  lines  and  tented  field, 
Where  lang  I'd  been  a  lodger, 

My  humble  knapsack  a'  my  wealth, 
A  poor  and  honest  sodger. 

A  leal,  light  heart  was  in  my  breast* 

My  hand  unstain'd  wi'  plunder  ; 
And  for  fair  Scotia,  hame  again 

I  cheery  on  did  wander. 
I  thought  upon  the  banks  o'  Coil, 

I  thought  upon  my  Nancy, 
I  thought  upon  the  witching  smile 

That  caught  my  youthful  fancy. 

At  length  I  reach'd  the  bonie  glen, 

Where  early  life  I  sported ; 
I  pass'd  the  mill,  and  trysting  thorn, 

Where  Nancy  aft  I  courted  : 
Wha  spied  I  but  my  ain  dear  maid, 

Down  by  her  mother's  dwelling! 
And  turn'd  me  round  to  hide  the  flood 

That  in  my  een  was  swelling. 

Wi'  alter'd  voice,  quoth  I,  Sweet  lass, 
Sweet  as  yon  hawthorn  blossom, 

0  !  happy,  happy  may  he  be, 
That's  dearest  to  thy  bosom  ! 

My  purse  is  light,  I've  far  to  gang, 
And  fain  wad  be  thy  lodger  j 

I've  serv'd  my  King  and  Country  lang— 
Take  pity  on  a  sodger  ! 

Sae  wistfully  she  gaz'd  on  me, 

And  lovelier  was  than  ever  : 
Quo'  she,  a  sodger  ance  I  lo'ed, 

Forget  Lan  shall  I  never  : 
Our  humble  cot,  and  namely  fare, 

Ye  freely  shall  partake  it, 
That  gallant  badge,  the  dear  cockade, 

Ye're  welcome  for  the  sake  o't. 

She  gaz'd — she  reddenrd  like  a  rose--' 

Syne  pale  like  onie  lily ; 
She  sank  within  my  arms,  and  cried, 

Art  thou  my  ain  dear  Willie  ? 
By  Him  who  made  yon  sun  and  sky, 

By  whom  true  love's  regarded, 

1  am  the  man  ;  and  thus  may  still 
True  lovers  be  rewarded  1 


238 


MY  FATHER  WAS  A  FARMER. 


The  wars  are  o'er,  and  I'm  corrle  hame, 

And  find  thee  still  true-hearted ; 
Tho'  poor  in  gear,  we're  rich  in  love, 

And  mair  we'se  ne'er  be  parted. 
Quo'  she,  My  grandsire  left  me  gowd, 

A  mailen  pienish'd  fairly ; 
And  come,  my  faithful  sodger  lad,' 

Thou'rt  welcome  to  it  dearly  ! 


For  gold  the  merchant  ploughs  the  main. 

The  farmer  ploughs  the  manor-; 
But  glory  is  the  sodger's  prize  ; 

The  sodger's  wealth  is  honour  : 
The  brave  poor  sodger  ne'er  despise, 

Nor  count  him  as  a  stranger, 
Remember  he's  his  Country's  stay 

In  day  and  hour  o'  danger. 


MY    FATHER    WAS    A    FARMER. 
Tone—'  The  Weaver  and  his  Shuttle,  CV 

My  Father  was  a  Farmer  upon  "the  Carrick  border,  O 

And  carefully  he  bred  me  in  decency  and  order,  O 

He  bade  me  act  a  manly  part,  though  I  had  ne'er  a  farthing,  O 

For  without  an  honest  manly  heart,  no  man  was  worth  regarding,  O. 

Then  out  into  the  world  my  course  I  did  determine,  O 
Tho'  to  be  rich  was  not  my  wish,  yet  to  be  great  was  charming,  O 
My  talents  they  were  not  the  worst ;  nor  yet  my  education,  O 
Resolv'd  was  I,  at  least  to  try,  to  mend  my  situation,  O. 

In  many  a  way,  and  vain  essay,  I  courted  fortune's  favour ;  O 
Some  cause  unseen  still  stent  between,  to  frustrate  each  endeavour,  O 
Sometimes  by  foes  I  was  o  erpower'd ;  sometimes  by  friends  forsaken  ;  O 
And  when  my  hope  was  at  the  top,  I  still  was  worst  mistaken,  O. 

Then  sore  harass'd,  and  tir'd  at  last,  with  fortune's  vain  delusion  ;  O 
I  dropt  my  schemes,  like  idle  dreams,  and  came  to  this  conclusion  ;  O 
The  past  was  bad,  and  the  future  hid  ;  its  good  or  ill  untried ;  O 
But  the  present  hour  was  in  my  pow'r,  arid  so  I  would  enjoy  it,  O. 

No  help,  nor  hope,  nor  view  had  I ;  nor  person  to  befriend  me  ;  O 
So  I  must  toil,  and  sweat  and  broil,  and  labour  to  sustain  me,  O 
To  plough  and  sow,  to  reap  and  mow,  my  father  bred  me  early  ;  O 
For  one,  he  said,  to  labour  bred,  was  a  match  for  fortune  fairly,  O. 

Thus  all  obscure,  unknown,  and  poor,  thro'  life  I'm  doom'd  to  wander,  O 
Till  down  my  weary  bones  I  lay  in  everlasting  slumber  ;  Q 
No  view  nor  care,  "but  shun  whate'er  might  breed  me  pain  or  sorrow ;  O 
I  live  to-day  as  well's  I  may,  regardless  of  to-morrow,  O. 

But  cheerful  still,  I  am  as  well  as  a  monarch  in  a  palace,  O 

Tho'  fortune's  frown  still  hunts  me  down,  with  all  her  wonted  malice ;  O 

I  make  indeed  my  daily  bread,  but  ne'er  can  make  it  farther;  O 

But  as  daily  bread  is  ail  I  need,  I  do  not  much  regard  her,  O. 

When  sometimes  by  my  labour  I  earn  a  little  money,  O 
Some  unforeseen  misfortune  comes  generally  upon  me  ;  O 
Mischance,  mistake,  or  by  neglect,  or  my  good-natur'd  folly ;  O 
But  come  what  will,  I've  sworn  it  still,  I'll  ne'er  be  melancholy,  O. 

All  you  who  follow  wealth  and  power,  with  unremitting  ardour,  O 
The  more  in  this  you.  look  for  bliss,  you  leave  your  view  the  farther ;  O 
Had  you  the  wealth  Potosi  boasts,  or  nations  to  adore  you,  O 
A  cheerful  honest-hearted  clown  I  will  prefer  before  you,  O. 


WHEN  FIRST  I  CAME  TO  STEWART  KYLE. 


m 


A  MOTHER'S  LAMENT  FOR 
THE  DEATH  OF  HER  SON. 

Tune — '  Finlayston  House.' 

Fate  gave  the  word,  the  arrow  sped, 

And  pierc'd  my  darling's  heart ; 
And  with  him  all  the  joys  are  fled 

Life  can  to  me  impart ! 
By  cruel  hands  the  sapling  drops, 

In  dust  dishonour'd  laid  : 
So  fell  the  pride  of  all  my  hopes, 

My  age's  future  shade. 

The  mother-linnet  in  the  brake 

Bewails  her  ravish'd  young  ; 
So  I,  for  my  lost  darling's  sake, 

Lament  the  live-day  long. 
Death,  oft  I've  fear'd  thy  fatal  blow, 

Now,  fond,  I  bare  my  breast, 
O,  do  thou  kindly  lay  me  low 

With  him  I  love,  at  rest ! 

BONIE  LESLEY. 

Tune—'  The  Colliers bonie Dochter.* 

O  saw  ye  bonie  Lesley 
As  she  gaed  o'er  the  border  ? 

She's  gane,  like  Alexander, 
To  spread  her  conquests  farther. 

To  see  her  is  to  love  her, 
And  love  but  her  for  ever ; 

For  Nature  made  her  what  she  is, 
And  ne'er  made  sic  anither  ! 

Thou  art  a  queen,  Fair  Lesley, 
Thy  subjects  we,  before  thee  : 

Thou  art  divine,  Fair  Lesley, 
The  hearts  o'  men  adore  thee. 

The  Deil  he  could  na  scaith  thee, 
Or  aught  that  wad  belang  thee ; 

He'd  look  into  thy  bonie  face, 
And  say,  *I  canna  wrang  thee. 

The  Powers  aboon  will  tent  thee  j 
Misfortune  sha'na  steer  thee  ; 

Thou'rt  like  themselves  sae  lovely, 
That  ill  they'll  ne'er  let  near  thee. 

Return  again,  Fair  Lesley, 

Return  to  Caledonie ! 
That  we  may  brag,  we  hac  a  lass 

There's  nane  again  sae  bonie. 


AMANG  THE  TREES. 

Tune — '  The  King  of  France,  he  rade  a  race.'' 

Amang  the  trees  where  humming  bees 

At  buds  and  flowers  were  hinging,  O 
Auld  Caledon  drew  out  her  drone, 

And  to  her  pipe  was  singing  ;  O 
'Twas  Pibroch,   Sang,    Strathspey,    or 
Reels, 

She  dirl'd  them  aff  fu'  clearly,  O 
When  there  cam  a  yell  o'  foreign  squeels, 

That  dang  her  tapsalteerie,  O — 

Their  capon  craws  and  queer  ha  ha's, 

They  made  our  lugs  grow  eerie  ;  O 
The  hungry  bike  did  scrape  and  pike 

Tilt  we  were  wae  and  wearie  :  O — 
But  a  royal  ghaist  wha  ance  was  cas'd 

A  prisoner  aughteen  year  awa, 
He  fir'd  a  fiddler  in  the  north 

That  dang  them  tapsalteerie,  O. 


WILEN  FIRST  I  CAME  TO 
STEWART  KYLE. 

Tune—'  /  had  a  horse  and  I  had  nac  mair.' 

When  first  I  cajne  to  Stewart  Kyle, 

My  mind  it  was  2?A  steady, 
Where'er  I  gaed,  where'er  I  rade, 

A  mistress  still  I  had  aye  : 
But  when  I  came  roun'  by  Mauchline 
town, 

Not  dreadin'  onie  body, 
My  heart  was  caught  before  I  thought, 

And  by  a  Mauchline  lady. 


ON  SENSIBILITY. 

TO    MY   DEAR  AND  MUCH   HONOURED    FRIEND, 
MRS.    DUNLOP,   OF  DUNLOP. 

Air—'  Sensibility. ' 

Sensibility,  how  charming, 

Thou,  my  friend,  canst  truly  tell ; 

But  distress,  with  horrors  armings. 
Thou  hast  also  known  too  well ! 

Fairest  flower,  behold  the  lily, 
Blooming  in  the  sunny  ray  :  , 

Let  the  blast  sweep  o'er  the  valley, 
See  it  prostrate  on  the  clay. 


240 


0  RAGING  FORTUNE'S  WITHERING  BLAST. 


Hear  the  wood-lark  charm  the  forest, 
Telling  o'er  his  little  joys  ; 

Hapless  bird  !  a  prey  the  surest 
To  each  pirate  of  the  skies. 

Dearly  bought  the  hidden  treasure 
Finer  feelings  can  bestow ; 

Chords  that  vibrate  sweetest  pleasure 
Thrill  the  deepest  notes  of  woe. 


MONTGOMERY'S  PEGGY. 
Tune— 'Galla  Water.' 

Altho'  my  bed  were  in  yon  muir, 
Amang  the  heather,  in  my  plaidie, 

Yet  happy,  happy  would  I  be, 

Had  I  my  dear  Montgomerie's  Peggy. 

When  o'er  the  hill  beat  surly  storms, 
And  winter  nights  were  dark  and  rainy, 

I'd  seek  some  dell,  and  in  my  arms 
I'd  shelter  dear  Montgomerie's  Peggy. 

Were  I  a  Baron  proud  and  high, 

And  horse  and  servants  waiting  ready, 

Then  a'  'twad  gie  o'  joy  to  me, 

The  sharin't  wi'  Montgomerie's  Peggy. 


ON  A  BANK  OF  FLOWERS. 

On  a  bank  of  flowers,  in  a  summer  day, 

For  summer  lightly  drest, 
The  youthful  blooming  Nelly  lay, 

With  love  and  sleep  opprest ; 

When  Willie,  wand' ring  thro1  the  wood, 
Who  for  her  favour  oft  had  sued  ; 
Hegaz'd,  he  wish'd,  he  fear'd,  heblush'd, 
And  trembled  where  he  stood. 

Her  closed  eyes,  like  weapons  sheath'd, 

Were  seal'd  in  soft  repose  ; 
Her  lips,  still  as  she  fragrant  breath 'd, 

It  richer  dy'd  the  rose. 

The  springing  lilies  sweetly  prest, 
Wild-wanton  kiss'd  her  rival  breast ; 
He  gaz'd,  he  wish'd,  he  fear'd,  he  blush'd, 
His  bosom  ill  at  rest. 


Her  robes,  light  waving  in  the  breeze, 

Pier  tender  limbs  embrace  ! 
Her  lovely  form,  her  native  ease, 

All  harmony  and  grace  ! 

Tumultuous  tides  his  pulses  roll, 
A  faltering  ardent  kiss  he  stole  ; 
Hegaz'd,  he  wish'd,  he  fear'd,  heblush'd, 
And  sigh'd  his  very  soul. 

As  flies  the  partridge  from  the  brake 

On  fear-inspired  wings  ; 
So  Nelly,  starting,  half  awake, 

Away  affrighted  springs  : 

But  Willie  follow'd— as  he  should, 
He  overtook  her  in  the  wood  : 
Hevow'djie  pray'd,  he  found  the  maid 
Forgiving  all,  and  good. 


O   RAGING   FORTUNE'S 
WITHERING  BLAST. 

O  RAGING  fortune's  withering  blast 
Has  laid  my  leaf  full  low  !  O 

O  raging  fortune's  withering  blast 
Has  laid  my  leaf  full  low  !  O. 

My  stem  was  fair,  my  bud  was  green, 
My  blossom  sweet  did  blow ;  O 

The  dew  fell  fresh,  the  sun  rose  mild, 
And  made  my  branches  grow  ;  O. 

But  luckless  fortune's  northern  storms 
Laid  a'  my  blossoms  low,  O 

But  luckless  fortune's  northern  storms 
Laid  a'  my  blossoms  low,  O. 


EVAN   BANKS.    (See  note.) 
Tune — A  Savour na  Delish. 

Slow  spreads  the  gloom  my  soul  desires, 
The  sun  from  India's  shore  retires  : 
To  Evan  Banks  with  temp' rate  ray, 
Home  of  my  youth,  he  leads  the  day. 

Oh  Banks  to  me  for  ever  dear  ! 
Oh  stream,  whose  murmurs  still  I  hear! 
All,  all  my  hopes  of  bliss  reside 
Where  Evan  mingles  with  the  Clyde. 


TO  MAR  Y  IN  HE  A  VEN. 


Ml 


And  she,  in  simple  beauty  drest, 
Whose  image  lives  within  my  breast ; 
Who  trembling  heard  my  parting  sigh, 
And  long  pursued  me  with  her  eye  ; 

Does  she,  with  heart  unchang'd  as  mine, 
Oft  in  the  vocal  bowers  recline? 
Or,  where  yon  grot  o'erhangs  the  tide, 
Muse  while  the  Evan  seeks  the  Clyde  ? 

Ye  lofty  Banks  that  Evan  bound, 
Ye  lavish  woods  that  wave  around, 
And  o'er  the  stream  your  shadows  throw, 
Which  sweetly  winds  so  far  below ; 

What  secret  charm  to  mem'ry  brings, 
All  that  on  Evan's  border  springs  ! 
Sweet  Banks  !  ye  bloom  by  Mary's  side : 
Blest  stream  !  she  views  thee  haste  to 
Clyde. 

Can  all  the  wealth  of  India's  coast 
Atone  for  years  in  absence  lost !. 
Return,  ye  moments  of  delight, 
With  richer  treasures  bless  my  sight ! 

Swift  from  this  desert  let  me  part; 
And  fly  to  meet  a  kindred  heart ! 
No  more  may  aught  my  steps  divide 
From  that  dear  stream  wliich  flows  to 
Clyde ! 


WOMEN'S  MINDS. 

Tune— '  For  a'  that: 

Tho*  women's  minds  like  winter  winds 
May  shift  and  turn,  and  a'  that, 

The  noblest  breast  adores  them  maist, 
A  consequence  I  draw  that. 

For  a'  that,  and  a*  that, 
And  twice  as  meikle's  a'  that, 

The  bonie  lass  that  I  loe  best 
She'll  be  my  ain  for  a'  that. 

Great  love  I  bear  to  all  the  fair, 
Their  humble  slave,  and  a'  that ; 

But  lordly  will,  I  hold  it  still 
A  mortal  sin  to  thraw  that. 
Fox  a' that,  &c. 


But  there  is  ane  aboon  the  lave, 
Has  wit,  and  sense,  and  a'  that ; 

A  bonie  lass,  I  like  her  best, 
And  wha  a  crime  dare  caJ  that  ? 
For  a'  that,  &c. 

In  rapture  sweet  this  hour  we  meet, 
Wi'  mutual  love  and  a'  that ; 

But  for  how  lang  the  flie  may  stang, 
Let  inclination  law  that. 
For  a'  that,  &c. 

Their  tricks  and  craft  hae  put  me  daft, 

They've  ta'en  me  in,  and  a'  that ; 
But  clear  your  decks,  and  here's  *  The 
Sex!' 
I  like  the  jades  for  a*  that. 
For  a'  that,  &c. 


TO  MARY  IN  HEAVEN. 

Tune— 'Miss  Forties'  farewell  to  Banff: 

Thou  lingering  star,  with  less'ning  ray, 

That  lov'st  to  greet  the  early  morn, 
Again  thou  usher'st  in  the  day 

My  Mary  from  my  soul  Was  torn. 
O  Mary  !  dear  departed  shade  ! 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest? 
Seest  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hear' st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his 
breast  ? 

That  sacred  hour  can  I  forget? 

Can  I  forget  the  hallow'd  grove, 
Where  by  the  winding  Ayr  we  met, 

To  live  one  day  of  parting  love  ? 
Eternity  will  not  efface 

Those  records  dear  of  transports  past; 
Thy  image  at  our  last  embrace ; 

Ah  !  little  thought  we  'twas  our  last ! 

Ayr  gurgling  kiss'd  his  pebbled  shore, 

O'erhung  with  wild  woods,  thick 'ning 
green; 
The  fragrant  birch,  and  hawthorn  hoar, 

Twin'd  am'rous  round  the  raptur'd 
scene. 
The  flowers  sprang  wanton  to  be  prest, 

The  birds  sang  love  on  ev'ry  spray, 
Till  too,  too  soon,  the  glowing  west 

Proclaimed  the  speed  of  winged  day. 


242 


SWEETEST  MAY. 


Still  o'er  these  scenes  my  mem'ry  wakes, 

And  fondly  broods  with  miser  care  ! 
Time  but  the  impression  deeper  makes, 

As  streams  their  channels  deeper  wear. 
My  Mary,  dear  departed  shade  ! 

Where  is  thy  blissful  place  of  rest  ? 
Seest  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hear'st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his 
breast  ? 

TO  MARY. 

Could  aught  of  song  declare  my  pains, 
Could  artful  numbers  move  thee, 

The  Muse  should  tell,  in  laboured  strains, 
O  Mary,  how  I  love  thee  ! 

They  who  but  feign  a  wounded  heart 
May  teach  the  lyre  to  languish  ; 

But  what  avails  the  pride  of  art, 
When  wastes  the  soul  with  anguish  ? 

Then  let  the  sudden  bursting  sigh 
The  heart-felt  pang  discover ; 

And  in  the  keen,  yet  tender  eye, 
O  read  th'  imploring  lover ! 

For  well  I  know  thy  gentle  mind 
Disdains  art's  gay  disguising ; 

Beyond  what  fancy  e'er  refin'd, 
The  voice  of  nature  prizing. 

O  LEAVE  NOVELS. 

O  leave  novels,  ye  Mauchline  belles, 
Ye' re  safer  at  your  spinning  wheel ; 

Such  witching  books  are  baited  hooks 
For  rakish  rooks,  like  Rob  Mossgiel. 

Your  fine  Tom  Jones  and  Grandisons, 
They  make  your  youthful  fancies  reel, 

They  heatyour  brains,  and  fire  your  veins, 
And  then  you're  prey  for  Rob  Moss- 
giel. 

Beware  a  tongue  that's  smoothly  hung ; 

A  heart  that  warmly  seems  to  feel ; 
That  feeling  heart  but  acts  a  part, 

'Tis  rakish  art  in  Rob  Mossgiel. 

The  frank  address,  the  soft  caress, 
Are  worse  than  poison'd  darts  of  steel, 

The  frank  address,  and  politesse, 
Are  all  finesse  in  Rob  Mossgiel. 


ADDRESS  TO  GENERAL 
DUMOURIER. 

A    PARODY   ON    ROBIN   ADAIR. 

You're  welcome  to  Despots,  Dumou* 

rier ; 
You're  welcome  to  Despots,  Dumourier; 
How  does  Dampiere  do  ? 
Aye,  and  Bournonville  too  ? 
Why  did  they  not  come  along  with  you, 

Dumourier  ? 

I  will  fight  France  with  you,  Dumourier ; 
I  will  fight  France  with  you,  Dumourier 
I  will  fight  France  with  you, 
1  will  take  my  chance  with  you  ; 
By  my  soul  I'll  dance  a  dance  with  you, 
Dumourier. 

Then  let  us  fight  about,  Dumourier  ; 
Then  let  us  fight  about,  Dumourier  ; 
Then  let  us  fight  about, 
Till  freedom's  spark  is  out, 
Then  we'll  be  damn'd  no  doubt — Du» 
mourier. 


SWEETEST  MAY. 

Sweetest  May>  let  love  inspire  thee  ; 
Take  a  heart  which  he  designs  thee;' 
As  thy  constant  slave  regard  it ; 
For  its  faith  and  truth  reward  it. 

Proof  o'  shot  to  birth  or  money, 
Not  the  wealthy,  but  the  bonie  ; 
Not  high-born,  but  noble-minded, 
In  love's  silken  band  can  bind  it  i 


ONE  NIGHT  AS  I  DID  WANDER. 

Tune — '  John  Anderson  my  Jo.' 

One  night  as  I  did  wander, 
When  corn  begins  to  shoot, 

I  sat  me  down  to  ponder, 
Upon  an  auld  tree  root : 

Auld  Ayr  ran  by  before  me, 
And  bicker'd  to  the  seas  ; 

A  cushat  crooded  o'er  me 
That  echoed  thro'  the  braes. 


THE  BELLES  OF  MA  UCHLWE.  243 

THE  WINTER  IT  IS  PAST. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

The  winter  it  is  past,  and  the  simmer  comes  at  last, 

And  the  small  birds  sing  on  every  tree  ; 
Now  every  thing  is  glad,  while  I  am  very  sad, 

Since  my  true  love  is  parted  from  me. 

The  rose  upon  the  brier  by  the  waters  running  clear, 

May  have  charms  for  the  linnet  or  the  bee  ; 
Their  little  loves  are  blest,  and  their  little  hearts  at  rest, 

But  my  true  love  is  parted  from  me. 

FRAGMENT, 


Her  flowing  locks,  the  raven's  wing, 
Adown  her  neck  and  bosom  hing  ; 

How  sweet  unto  that  breast  to  cling, 
And  round  that  neck  entwine  her  ! 


Her  lips  are  roses  wet  wi'  dew  ! 

O,  what  a  feast  her  bonie  mou 
Her  cheeks  a  mair  celestial  hue, 

A  crimson  still  diviner  ! 


THE  CHEVALIER'S  LAMENT. 

Tune—'  Captain  O  'Kean.* 

The  small  birds  rejoice  in  the  green  leaves  returning, 
The  murmuring  streamlet  winds  clear  thro'  the  vale ; 

The  hawthorn  trees  blow  in  the  dews  of  the  morning, 
And  wild  scatter'd  cowslips  bedeck  the  green  dale  : 

But  what  can  give  pleasure,  or  what  can  seem  fair, 
While  the  lingering  moments  are  number'd  by  care  ? 

No  flowers  gaily  springing,  nor  birds  sweetly  singing, 
Can  soothe  the  sad  bosom  of  joyless  despair. 

The  deed  that  I  dar'd  could  it  merit  their  malice, 
A  King  or  a  Father  to  place  on  his  throne  ? 

His  right  are  these  hills,  and  his  right  are  these  valleys, 
Where  the  wild  beasts  find  shelter,  but  I  can  find  none. 

But  'tis  not  my  sufferings  thus  wretched,  forlorn, 
My  brave  gallant  friends,  'tis  your  ruin  I  mourn : 

Your  deeds  prov'd  so  loyal  in  hot  bloody  trial, 
Alas  !  can  I  make  you  no  sweeter  return  ? 

THE  BELLES  OF  MAUCHLINE. 

Tune—'  Bonnie  Dundee.' 

In  Mauchline  there  dwells  six  proper  young  Belles, 
The  pride  of  the  place  and  it's  neighbourhood  a*, 

Their  carnage  and  dress,  a  stranger  would  guess, 
In  Lon'on  or  Paris  they'd  gotten  it  a' : 

Miss  Miller  is  fine,  Miss  Markland's  divine, 

Miss  Smith  she  has  wit,  and  Miss  Betty  is  braw  : 

There's  beauty  and  fortune  to  get  wi'  Miss  Morton, 
But  Armour's  the  jewel  for  me  o'  them  a'. 

Hi 


244 


THE  TORBOLTON  LASSES. 


THE  TARBOLTON    LASSES. 


If  ye  gae  up  to  yon  hill- tap, 
Ye'll  there  see  borne  Peggy ; 

She  kens  her  father  is  a  laird, 
And  she  forsooth 's  a  leddy. 

There  Sophy  tight,,  a  lassie  bright, 
Besides  a  handsome  fortune  : 

Wha  canna  win  her  in  a  night, 
Has  little  art  in  courting. 

Gae  down  by  Faile,  and  taste  the  ale, 
And  tak  a  look  o'  Mysie  ; 

She's  dour  and  din,  a  deil  within, 
But  aiblins  she  may  please  ye. 


If  she  be  shy,  her  sister  try, 
Ye'll  maybe  fancy  Jenny, 

If  ye'll  dispense  wi'  want  o'  sense- 
She  kens  hersel  she's  bonie. 

As  ye  gae  up  by  yon  hill-side, 

Speer  in  for  bonie  Bessy  ; 
She'll  gi'e  ye  a  beck,  and  bid  ye  light, 

And  handsomely  address  ye. 

There's  few  sae  bony,  nane  sae  gude, 
In  a'  King  George'  dominion  ; 

If  ye  should  doubt  the  truth  o'  this — * 
It's  Bessy's  ain  opinion  ! 


THE  TARBOLTON   LASSES. 

In  Tarbolton,  ye  ken,  there  are  proper  young  men, 
And  proper  young  lasses  and  a',  man  ; 

But  ken  ye  the  Ronalds  that  live  in  the  Bennals, 
They  carry  the  gree  frae  them  a',  man. 

Their  father's  a  laird,  and  weel  he  can  spare 't, 
Braid  money  to  tocher  them  a',  man, 

To  proper  young  men,  he'll  clink  in  the  hand 
Gowd  guineas  a  hunder  or  twa,  man. 

There's  ane  they  ca'  Jean,  I'll  warrant  ye've  seen 

As  bonie  a  lass  or  as  braw,  man, 
But  for  sense  and  guid  taste  she'll  vie  wi'  the  best, 

And  a  conduct  that  beautifies  a',  man. 

The  charms  o'  the  min',  the  langer  they  shine, 
The  mair  admiration  they  draw,  man ; 

While  peaches  and  cherries,  and  foses  and  lilies, 
They  fade  and  they  wither  awa,  man. 

If  ye  be  for  Miss  Jean,  tak  this  frae  a  frien', 

A  hint  o'  a  rival  or  twa,  man, 
The  Laird  o'  Blackbyre  wad  gang  through  the  fire, 

If  that  wad  entice  her  awa,  man. 

The  Laird  o'  Braehead  has  been  on  his  speed, 
For  mair  than  a  towmond  or  twa,  man, 

The  Laird  o*  the  Ford  will  straught  on  a  board, 
If  he  canna  get  her  at  a',  man. 

Then  Anna  comes  in,  the  pride  o'  her  kin, 
The  boast  of  our  bachelors  a',  man  : 

Sae  sonsy  and  sweet,  sae  fully  complete, 
She  steals  our  affections  awa,  man. 


HERE'S  A  HEALTH  TO  THEM  THAT'S  AWA.  245 

If  I  should  detail  the  pick  and  the  wale 

O'  lasses  that  live  here  awa,  man, 
The  fault  wad  be  mine,  if  they  didna  shine, 

The  sweetest  and  best  o'  them  a',  man. 

i  lo'e  her  mysel,  but  darena  weel  tell, 

My  poverty  keeps  me  in  awe,  man, 
For  making  o'  rhymes,  and  working  at  times, 

Does  little  or  naething  at  a',  man. 

Yet  I  wadna  choose  to  let  her  refuse,. 

Nor  ha'e  't  in  her  power  to  say  na,  man, 
For  though  I  be  poor,  unnoticed,  obscure, 

My  stomach's  as  proud  as  them  a',  man. 

Though  I  canna  ride  in  weel-booted  pride, 

And  flee  o'er  the  hills  like  a  craw,  man, 
I  can  haud  up  my  head  wi'  the  best  o'  the  breed, 

Though  fluttering  ever  so  braw,  man. 

My  coat  and  my  vest,  they  are  Scotch  o'  the  best, 

O'  pairs  o'  guid  breeks  I  ha'e  twa,  man, 
And  stockings  and  pumps  to  put  on  my  stumps, 

And  ne'er  a  wrang  steek  in  them  a',  man. 

My  sarks  they  are  few,  but  five  o'  them  new, 

Twal'  hundred,  as  white  as  the  snaw,  man, 
A  ten-shilling's  hat,  a  Holland  cravat ; 

There  are  no  mony  poets  sae  braw,  man. 

I  never  had  frien's,  weel  stockit  in  means, 

To  leave  me  a  hundred  or  twa,  man, 
Nae  weel  tochered  aunts,  to  wait  on  their  drants, 

And  wish  them  in  hell  for  it  a',  man. 

I  never  was  canny  for  hoarding  o'  money, 

Or  claughtin't  together  at  a',  man, 
I've  little  to  spend,  and  naething  to  lend, 

But  deevil  a  shilling  I  awe,  mam 


HERE'S  A  HEALTH  TO  THEM  THAT'S  AWA. 


Here's  a  health  to  them  that's  awa, 
Here's  a  health  to  them  that's  awa  ; 
And  wha  winna  wish  guid  luck  to  our 

cause, 
Hay  never  guid  luck  be  their  fa'  ! 
It's  guid  to  be  merry  and  wise, 
It's  guid  to  be  honest  and  true, 
li's  guid  to  support  Caledonia's  cause, 
And  bide  by  the  buff  and  the  bta&. 


Here's  a  health  to  them  that's  awa, 
Here's  a  health  to  them  that's  awa, 
Here's  a  health  to  Charlie  the  chief  o 

the  clan, 
Altho'  that  his  hand  be  but  sma\ 
May  liberty  meet  wi'  success  ! 
May  prudence  protect  her  frae  evil ! 
May  tyrants  and  tyranny  tine  in  the  mist* 
And  wander  their  way  to  the  devil  4! 


246 


MY  LADY'S  GOWN  THERE'S  GAIRS  UPON'T. 


Here's  a  health  to  them  that's  awa, 
Here's  a  health  to  them  that's  awa  ; 
Here's  a  health  to  Tammie,  the  Norland 

laddie, 
That  lives  at  the  lug  o'  the  law  ! 
Here's  freedom  to  him  that  wad  read, 
Here's  freedom  to  him  that  wad  write  ! 
There's  nane  ever  fear'd  that  the  truth 

should  be  heard, 
But  they  wham  the  truth  wad  indite. 
Here's  a  health  to  them  that's  awa, 
Here's  a  health  to  them  that's  awa, 
Here's  Chieftain  M'Leod,  a  Chieftain 

worth  gowd, 
Tho'  bred  among  mountains  o'  snaw  ! 


I'M  OWRE  YOUNG  TO  MARRY 
YET. 

I  AM  my  mammie's  ae  bairn, 
Wi'  unco  folk  I  weary,  Sir ; 

And  lying  in  a  man's  bed, 
I'm  fley'd  wad  mak  me  eerie,  Sir. 

CHORUS. 

I'm  owre  young,  I'm  owre  young, 
I'm  owre  young  to  marry  yet ; 

I'm  owre  young,  'twad  be  a  sin 
To  tak  me  frae  my  mammie  yet. 

My  mammie  coft  me  a  new  gown, 
The  kirk  maun  hae  the  gracing  o't ; 

Were  I  to  lie  wi'  you,  kind  Sir, 
I'm  fear'd  ye'd  spoil  the  lacing  o't. 
I'm  owre  young,  &c. 

Hallowmas  is  Come  and  gane, 

The  nights  are  lang  in  winter,  Sir ; 

And  you  an'  I  in  aebed, 

In  troth  I  dare  na  venture,  Sir. 
I'm  owre  young,  &c. 

Fu'  loud  atid  shrill  the  frosty  wind 
Blaws  thro'  the  leafless  timmer,  Sir; 

But  if  ye  come  this  gate  again, 
I'll  aulder  be  gin  simmer,  Sir. 
I'm  owre  young,  &c. 


DAMON  AND  SYLVIA. 

Tune—'  The  litker  morn,  as  I  forlorn.' 

Yon  wand'ring  rill,  that  marks  the  hill, 
And  glances  o'er  the  brae,  Sir  : 

Slides  by  a  bower  where  rnonie  a  flower 
Sheds  fragrance  on  the  day,  Sir. 

There  Damon  lay,  with  Sylvia  gay : 
To  love  they  thought  nae  crime,  Sir ; 

The  wild-birds  sang,  the  echoes  rang, 
While  Damon's  heart  beat  time,  Sir. 


MY   LADY'S  GOWN  THERE'S 
GAIRS   UPON'T. 

CHORUS. 

My  lady's  gown  there's  gairs  upon't, 
And    gowden    flowers    sae    rare 

upon't ; 
But  Jenny's  jimps  and  jirkinet, 
My  lord  thinks  muckle  mair  upon't. 

My  lord  a-hunting  he  is  gane, 
But  hounds  or  hawks  wi'  him  are  nane, 
By  Colin's  cottage  lies  his  game, 
If  Colin's  Jenny  be  at  hame. 
My  lady's  gown,  &c. 

My  lady's  white,  my  lady's  red, 
And  kith  and  kin  o'  Cassillis'  blude. 
But  her  ten-pund  lands  o'  tocher  guid 
Were  a'  the  charms  his  lordship  lo'ed. 
My  lady's  gown,  &c. 

Out  o'er  yon  muir,  out  o'er  yon  moss, 
Whare  gor-cocks  thro'  the  heather  pass, 
There  wons  auld  Colin's  boriie  lass, 
A  lily  in  a  wilderness. 
My  lady's  gown,  &c. 

Sae  sweetly  move  her  genty  limbs, 
Like  music  notes  o'  lover's  hymns  : 
The  diamond  dew  in  her  een  sae  blue, 
Where  laughing  love  sae  wanton  swims. 
My  lady's  gown,  &c. 

My  lady's  dink,  my  lady's  drest, 
The  flower  and  fancy  o*  the  west  ; 
But  the  lassie  that  a  man  lo'es  best, 
O  that's  the  lass  to  make  him  blest 
My  lady's  gown,  &c. 


O  WHY  THE  DEUCE. 


247 


O  AY  MY  WIFE  SHE  DANG  ME. 

CHORUS. 

O  ay  my  wife  she  dang  me, 
An'  aft  my  wife  did  bang  me ; 
If  ye  gie  a  woman  a'  her  will, 
Guid  faith  she'll  soon  o'ergang  ye. 

ON  peace  and  rest  my  mind  was  bent, 

And  fool  I  was  I  marry'd ; 
But  never  honest  man's  intent 

As  cursedly  miscarry'd. 

Some  sa'r  o'  comfort  still  at  last, 
When  a'  thir  days  are  done,  man, 

My  pains  o'  hell  on  earth  are  past, 
I'm  sure  o'  bliss  aboon,  man. 
O  ay  my  wife,  &c. 


THE  BANKS  OF  NITH. 

A   BALLAD. 

To  thee,  lov'd  Nith,  thy  gladsome  plains, 
Where  late  wi'  careless  thought  I 
rang'd, 

Though  prest  wi'  care  and  sunk  in  woe, 
To  thee  I  bring  a  heart  unchang'd. 

I  love  thee,  Nith,  thy  banks  and  braes, 
Tho'  mem'ry  there  my  bosom  tear  ; 

For  there  he  rov'd  that  brake  my  heart, 
Yet  to  that  heart,  ah,  still  how  dear  ! 


BONIE  PEG. 

As  I  came  in  by  our  gate  end, 

As  day  was  wax  in'  weary, 
O  wha  came  tripping  down  the  street, 

But  bonie  Peg,  my  dearie  ! 

Her  air  sae  sweet,  and  shape  complete, 
Wi'  nae  proportion  wanting, 

The  Queen  of  Love  did  never  move 
Wi'  motion  mair  enchanting. 

Wi'  linked  hands,  we  took  the  sands 

Adown  yon  winding  river ; 
And,  oh !  that  hour  and  broomy  bower, 

Can  I  forget  it  ever  ? 


O  LAY  THY  LOOF  IN  MINE, 
LASS. 


CHORUS. 


O  lay  thy  loof  in  mine,  lass, 
In  mine,  lass,  in  mine,  lass, 

And  swear  in  thy  white  hand,  lass, 
That  thou  wilt  be  my  ain. 

A  slave  to  love's  Unbounded  sway, 
He  aft  has  wrought  me  meikle  wae  j 
But  now  he  is  my  deadly  fae, 
Unless  thou  be  my  ain. 
O  lay  thy  loof,  &c. 

There's  monie  a  lass,  has  broke  my  rest, 
That  for  a  blink  I  hae  lo'ed  best; 
But  thou  art  Queen  within  my  breast, 
For  ever  to  remain. 
O  lay  thy  loof,  &c. 


O  GUID  ALE  COMES. 

CHORUS. 

0  guid  ale  comes,  and  guid  ale  goes, 
Guid  ale  gars  me  sell  my  hose, 

Sell  my  hose,  and  pawn  my  shoon, 
Guid  ale  keeps  my  heart  aboon. 

I  had  sax  owsen  in  a  pleugh, 
They  drew  a'  weel  eneugh, 
I  sell'd  them  a*  just  ane  by  ane; 
Guid  ale  keeps  my  heart  aboon. 

Guid  ale  hauds  me  bare  and  busy, 
Gars  me  moop  wi'  the  servant  hizzie, 
Stand  i'  the  stool  when  I  hae  done, 
Guid  ale  keeps  my  heart  aboon. 
O  guid  ale  comes,  &c. 

O  WHY  THE  DEUCE. 

EXTEMPORE.      APRIL,    1782. 

0  why  the  deuce  should  I  repine, 
And  be  an  ill  foreboder  ? 

I'm  twenty-three,  and  five  feet  nine — 
I'll  go  and  be  a  sodger. 

1  gat  some  gear  wi'  meikle  care, 

1  held  it  weel  thegither ; 

But  now  it's  gane  and  something  mair, 
I'll  go  and  be  a  sodger. 


248 


THE  FIVE  CARLINS. 


POLLY  STEWART. 

TONE—'  Ye1  re  welcome,  Charley  Stewart.'' 
CHORUS. 

O  lovely  Polly  Stewart, 

0  charming  Polly  Stewart, 
There's  ne'er  a  flower  that  blooms  in 

May, 
That's  half  so  fair  as  thou  art. 

The  flower  it  blaws,  it  fades,  it  fa's, 
And  art  can  ne'er  renew  it ; 

But  worth  and  truth  eternal  youth 
Will  gie  to  Polly  Stewart. 

May  he,  whase  arms  shall  fauld  thy 
charms, 
Possess  a  leal  and  true  heart ; 
To  him  be  given  to  ken  the  heaven 
He  grasps  in  Polly  Stewart. 
O  lovely,  &c. 

ROBIN  SHURE  IN  HAIRST. 

CHORUS. 

Robin  shure  in  hairst, 

I  shure  wi'  him, 
Fient  a  heuk  had  I, 

Yet  I  stack  by  him. 

1  gaed  up  to  Dunse, 

To  warp  a  wab  o'  plaiden, 
At  his  daddie's  yett, 
Wha  met  me  but  Robin. 

Was  na  Robin  bauld, 

Tho'  I  was  a  cotter, 
Play'd  me  sick  a  trick 

And  me  the  eller's  dochter  ? 

Robin  promis'd  me 

A*  my  winter  vittle  ; 
Fient  haet  he  had  but  three 

Cioose  feathers  and  a  whittle. 
Robin  shure,  &c. 

THE   FIVE  CARLINS. 

AN  ELECTION  BALLAD.     I789. 

Tune — ' Chevy  Chase' 
There  were  five  Carlins  in  the  south, 

They  fell  upon  a  scheme, 
To  send  a  lad  to  Lon'on  town 

To  bring  us  tidings  liame. 


Not  only  bring  us  tidings  hame, 

But  do  our  errands  there, 
And  aiblins  gowd  and  honour  baith 

Might  be  that  laddie's  share. 

There   was   Maggie   by   the   banks  o* 
Nith, 

A  dame.wi'  pride  eneugh  ; 
And  Marjorie  o'  the  monie  Lochs, 

A  Carlin  auld  an'  teugh. 

And  blinkin  Bess  o'  Annandale, 
That  dwells  near  Solway  side, 

And  whisky  Jean  that  took  her  gill 
In  Galloway  so  wide. 


And 


Creighton 


auld  black  Joan  frae 
peel, 

O*  gipsy  kith  an*  kin, 
Five  wighter  Carlins  were  na  foun' 
The  south  kintra*  within. 

To  send  a  lad  to  Lon'on  town 

They  met  upon  a  day, 
And  monie  a  Knight    and    monie    a 
Laird, 

That  errand  fain  would  gae. 

O  !  monie  a  Knight  and  monie  a  Laird, 
This  errand  fain  would  gae ; 

But  nae  ane  could  their  fancy  please, 
O  !  ne'er  a  ane  but  twae. 

The  first  ane  was  a  belted  Knight, 

Bred  o'  a  border  clan, 
An'  he  wad  gae  to  Lon'on  town, 

Might  nae  man  him  withstan* : 

And  he  wad  do  their  errands  weel, 

And  meikle  he  wad  say, 
And  ilka  ane  at  Lon'on  court 

Wad  bid  to  him  guid  day. 

Then  neist  came  in  a  sodger  youth, 
And  spak  wi'  modest  grace, 

An'  he  wad  gae  to  Lon  on  town, 
If  sae  their  pleasure  was. 

He  wad  na  hecht  them  courtly  gift, 
Nor  meikle  speech  pretend  ; 

But  he  wad  hecht  an  honest  heart 
Wad  ne'er  desert  his  friend. 


THE  LASS  THAT  MADE  THE  BED  TO  ME. 


249 


Now  wham  to  choose  and  wham  refuse, 

To  strife  thae  Carlins  fell ; 
For  some  had  gentle  folk  to  please, 

And  some  wad  please  themsel. 

Then  out  spak  mim-mou'd  Meg  o'  Nith, 

An'  she  spak  out  wi'  pride, 
An'  she  wad  send  the  sodger  youth 

Whatever  might  betide. 

For  the  auld  guidman  o'  Lon'on  court 

She  didna  care  a  pin, 
But  she  wad  send  the  sodger  youth 

To  greet  his  eldest  son. 

Then  up  sprang  Bess  o'  Annandale : 

A  deadly  aith  she's  ta'en, 
That  she  wad  vote  the  border  Knight, 

Tho'  she  should  vote  her  lane. 

For  far  aff  fowls  hae  feathers  fair, 
An'  fools  o'  change  are  farm  : 

But  I  hae  tried  the  border  Knight, 
I'll  try  him  yet  again. 

Says  auld  black  Joan  frae  Creighton 
peel, 

A  Carlin  stoor  and  grim, 
The  auld  guidman  or  young  guidman, 

For  me  may  sink  or  swim  I 

For  fools  may  freit  o'  right  and  wrang, 
While  knaves  laugh  them  to  scorn : 

But  the  sodgers'  friends  hae  blawn  the 
best, 
Sae  he  shall  bear  the  horn. 

Then  whisky  Jean  spak  o'er  her  drink, 

Ye  weel  ken  kimmers  a' 
The  auld  guidman  o'  Lon'on  court, 

His  back's  been  at  the  wai 

And  monie  a  friend. that  kiss'd  his  caup, 

Is  now  a  frammit  wight ; 
But  it's  ne'er  sae  wi'  whisky  Jean,— 

We'll  send  the  border  Knight. 

Then  slow  raise  Marjorie  o'  the  Lochs, 
And  wrinkled  was  her  brow  ; 

Her  ancient  weed  was  russet  gray, 
Her  auld  Scots  bluid  was  true. 


There's  some  great  folks  set  light  by  me, 

I  set  as  light  by  them ; 
But  I  will  send  to  Lon'on  town, 

WTha  I  lo'e  best  at  hame. 

So  how  this  weighty  plea  will  end, 

Nae  mortal  wight  can  tell ; 
God  grant  the  King  and  ilka  man 

May  look  weel  to  hlmsel' .! 

THE  DEUK'S  DANG  O'ER  MY 
DADDIE. 

The  bairns  gat  out  wi'  an  unco  shout, 

The  deuk's  dang  o'er  my  daddie,  O  ! 
The  flent  ma  care,  quo'  the  feirie  auld 
wife, 

He  was  but  a  paidlin  body,  O  ! 
He  paidles  out,  and  he  paidles  in, 

An'  he  paidles  late  and  early,  O  ; 
This  seven  lang  years  I  hae  lien  by  his 
side, 

An'  he  is  but  a  fusionless  carlie,  O. 

O  haud  your  tongue,  my  feirie  auld 
wife, 

0  haud  your  tongue  now,  Nansie,  O : 
I've  seen  the  day,  and  sae  hae  ye, 

Ye  wadna  been  sae  donsie,  O  ; 
I've  seen  the  day  ye  butter'd  my  brose, 

And  cuddl'd  me  late  and  earlie,  O  ; 
JBut  downa  do's  come  o'er  me  now, 

And,  olv  I  find  it  sairly,  O  \ 


THE  LASS  THAT  MADE  THE 
BED  TO  ME. 

When  Januar'  wind  was  blawing  cauld, 
As  to  the  north, I  took  my  way, 

The  mirksome  night  did  me  enfauld, 
I  knew  na  where  to  lodge  till  day. 

By  my  good  luck  a  maid  I  met, 
Just  in  the  middle  o'  my  care  ; 

And  kindly  she  did  me  invite 
To  walk  into  a  chamber  fair. 

I  bow'd  fu'  low  unto  this  maid, 
And  thank'd  her  for  her  courtesie ; 

I  bow'd  fu*  low  unto  this  maid, 
And  bade  her  mak  a  bed  to  me* 


250 


THERE  WAS  A  BONIE  LASS. 


She  made  the  bed  baith  large  and  wide, 
Wi'  tvva  white  hands  she  spread  it 
down  ; 
She  put  the  cup  to  her  rosy  lips, 
And  drank,  '  Young  man,  now  sleep 
ye  soun.' 

She  snatch'd  the  candle  in  her  hand, 
And  frae  my  chamber  went  wi'  speed ; 

But  I  call'd  her  quickly  back  again 
To  lay  some  mair  below  my  head. 

A  cod  she  laid  below  my  head, 
And  served  me  wi'  due  respect; 

And  to  salute  her  wi'  a  kiss, 
I  put  my  arms  about  her  neck. 

1  Haud  aff  your  hands,   young  man,' 
she  says, 
•  And  dinna  sae  uncivil  be  : 
If  ye  hae  onie  love  for  me, 

0  wrang  na  my  virginitie  ! ' 

fHer  hair  was  like  the  links  o'  gowd, 
Her  teeth  were  like  the  ivorie  ; 

Her  cheeks  like  lilies  dipt  in  wine, 
The  lass  that  made  the  bed  to  me. 

Her  bosom  was  the  driven  snaw, 
Twa  drifted  heaps  sae  fair  to  see ; 

Her  limbs  the  polish'd  marble  stane, 
The  lass  that  made  the  bed  to  me. 

I  kiss'd  her  owre  and  owre  again, 
And  aye  she  wist  na  what  to  say  ; 

I  laid  her  between  me  and  the  wa',— 
The  lassie  thought  na  lang  till  day. 

Upon  the  morrow  when  we  rose, 

1  thank'd  her  for  her  courtesie  ; 

But  aye  she  blush'd,  and  aye  she  sigh'd, 
And  said,  *  Alas  !  ye've  ruin'd  me.' 

I  clasp'd  her  waist,  and  kiss'd  her  syne, 
While  the  tear  stood  twinkling  in  her 
ee; 

I  said,  *  My  lassie,  dinna  cry, 
For  ye  ay  shall  make  the  bed  to  me.' 

She  took  her  mither's  Holland  sheets, 
And  made  them  a'  in  sarks  to  me  : 

Blythe  and  merry  may  she  be, 
The  lass  that  made  the  bed  to  me. 


The  bonie  lass  made  the  bed  to  me, 
The  braw  lass  made  the  bed  to  me  ; 

111  ne'er  forget  till  the  day  I  die, 
The  lass  that  made  the  bed  to  me  ! 


THE  UNION. 
Tune—  'Suck  a  parcel  of  rogues  in  a  nation* 

Fareweel  to  a'  our  Scottish  fame, 

Fareweel  our  ancient  glory ! 
Fareweel  even  to  the  Scottish  name, 

Sae  fam'd  in  martial  story  ! 
Now  Sark  rins  o'er  the  Solway  sands, 

And  Tweed  rins  to  the  ocean, 
To  mark  where    England's    province 
stands ; 

Such  a  parcel  of  rogues  in  a  nation. 

What  guile  or  force  could  not  subdue, 

Through  many  warlike  ages, 
Is  wrought  now  by  a  coward  few, 

For  hireling  traitors'  wages. 
The  English  steel  we  could  disdain, 

Secure  in  valour's  station, 
But  English  gold  has  been  our  bane  ; 

Such  a  parcel  of  rogues  in  a  nation  ! 

0  would,  or  had  1  seen  the  day 

That  treason  thus  could  sell  us, 
My  auld  grey  head  had  lien  in  clay, 

Wi'  Bruce  and  loyal  Wallace ! 
But  pith  and  power,  till  my  last  hour 

I'll  mak  this  declaration, 
We're  bought  and  sold  for  English  gold  : 

Such  a  parcel  of  rogues  in  a  nation ! 


THERE  WAS  A  BONIE  LASS. 

There  was  a  bonie  lass,  and  a  bonie, 
bonie  lass, 
And  she  lo'ed  her  bonie  laddie  dear  ; 
Till  war's  loud  alarms  tore  her  laddie 
frae  her  arms, 
Wi'  monie  a  sigh  and  tear. 

Over  sea,  over  shore,  where  the  cannons 
loudly  roar, 
He  still  was  a  stranger  to  fear  : 
And  nocht  could  him    quell,    or   his 
bosom  assail, 
But  the  bonie  lass  he  lo'ed  sae  dear. 


CRAIGIE-BURN-  WOOD. 


251 


MY  HARRY  WAS  A  GALLANT 
GAY. 

Turn—* Highlander's  lament* 

My  Harry  was  a  gallant  gay, 
Fu*  stately  strade  he  dn  the  plain  f 

But  now  he's  banish' d  far  away, 
I'll  never  see'  him  back  again. 

CHORUS. 

0  for  him  back  again, 
O  for  him  back  again, 

1  wad  gie  a'  Knockhaspie's  land, 
For  Highland  Harry  back  again. 


When   a*  the  lave   gae  to  their 
bed, 
I  wander  dowie  up  the  glen  ; 
I  sit  me  down  and  greet  my  fill, 
And  ay  I  wish  him  back  again. 
O  for  him,  &c. 

O  were  some  villains  hangit  high, 
And  ilka  body  had  their  ain, 

Then  I  might  see  the  joyfu'  sight,  . 
My  Highland  Harry  back  again  }• 
O  for  him,  &c. 


TIBBIE  DUNBAR. 
Tune  —  '  Johnny  M'Gill.' 
O  WILT  thou  go  wi'  me,  sweet  Tibbie  Dunbar? 

0  wilt  thou  go'  wi'  me,  sweet  Tibbie  Dunbar  * 
Wilt  thou  ride  on  a  horse,  or  be  drawn  in  a  car. 
Or  walk  by  my  side,  O  sweet  Tibbie  Dunbar  ? 

1  care  na  thy  daddie,  his  lands  and  his  money, 
I  care  na  thy  kin,  sae  high  and  sae  lordly  : 
But  say  thou  wilt  hae  me  for  better  for  waur, 
And  come  in  thy  coatie,  sweet  Tibbie  Dunbar. 

WEE  WILLIE. 

Wee  Willie  Gray,  and  his  leather  wallet ; 

Peel  a  willow-wand,  to  be  him  boots  and  jacket  : 

The  rose  upon  the  briar  will  be  him  trouse  and  doublet, 

The  rose  upon  the  briar  will  be  him  trouse  and  doublet  ! 

Wee  Willie  Gray,  and  his  leather  wallet ; 

Twice  a  lily  flower  will  be  him  sark  and  cravat ; 

Feathers  of  a  flee  wad  feather  up  his  bonnet, 

Feathers  of  a  flee  wad  feather  up  his  bonnet. 


CRAIGIE-BURN-WOOD. 

CHORUS. 

Beyond  thee,   dearie,   beyond  thee, 
dearie, 

And  O  to  be  lying  beyond  thee, 
O  sweetly,  soundly,  weel  may  he  sleep, 

That's  laid  in  the  bed  beyond  thee. 

Sweet  closes  the  evening  on  Craigie- 
burn-wood, 
And  blythely  awakens  the  morrow  ; 
But  the  pride  of  the  spring  in  the  Craigie- 
burn-wood 
Can  yield  to  me  nothing  but  sorrow. 
Beyond  thee,  &c. 


I  see  the  spreading  leaves  and  flowers, 
I  hear  the  wild  birds  singing ; 

But  pleasure  they  hae  nane  for  me, 
While  care  my  heart  is  wringing. 
Beyond  thee,  &c. 

I  canna  tell,  I  maun  na  tell, 

I  dare  na  for  your  anger; 
But  secret  love  will  break  my  heart 

If  I  conceal  it  langer. 
Beyond  thee,  &c. 

I  see  thee  gracefu',  straight  and  tall, 
I  see  thee  sweet  and  bonie, 

But  oh,  what  will  my  torments  be, 
If  thou  refuse  thy  Johnie ! 
Beyond  thee,  &c. 


252 


AS  T  WAS  A  WANDERING. 


To  see  thee  in  anither's  arms, 
In  love  to  lie  and  languish, 

'Tv/ad  be  my  dead,  that  will  be  seen, 
My  heart  wad  burst  wi'  anguish. 
Beyond  thee,  &c. 

But,  Jeanie,  say  thou  wilt  be  mine, 
Say,  thou  lo'es  nane  before  me  ; 

An*  a'  my  days  o'  life  to  come, 
I'll  gratefully  adore  thee. 
Beyond  thee,  &c. 


HERE'S  HIS   HEALTH   IN 
WATER! 

Tune—*  The  job  of  journey-work.' 

Altho'  my  back  be  at  the  wa', 

And  tho'  he  be  the  fautor  ; 
Altho'  my  back  be  at  the  wa', 

Yet,  here's  his  health  in  water  ! 
O  !  wae  gae  by  his  wanton  sides, 

Sae  brawlie  he  could  flatter  ; 
Till  for  his  sake  I'm  slighted  sair. 

And  dree  the  kintra  clatter. 
But  tho'  my  back  be  at  the  wa', 

And  tho  he  be  the  fautor  ; 
But  tho'  my  back' be  at  the  wa', 

Yet,  here's  his  health  in  water  ! 


AS  DOWN  THE  BURN  THEY 
TOOK  THEIR  WAY. 

As  down  the  burn  they  took  their  way, 
And  thro'  the  flowery  dale  ; 

His  cheeks  to  hers  he  aft  did  lay, 
And  love  was  ay  the  tale. 

With  *  Mary,  when  shall  we  return, 

Sic  pleasure  to  renew  ? ' 
Quoth  Mary,  *  Love,  I  like  the  burn, 

And  ay  shall  follow  you.' 

LADY  ONLIE. 

Tune—'  Rujjfiaris  rant.' 
A'  the  lads  o'  Thornie-bank, 

When  they  gae  to  the  shore  o'  Bucky, 
They'll  step  in  an'  tak'  a  pint 
Wi'  Lady  Onlie,  honest  Lucky  ! 
Ladie  Onlie,  honest  Lucky, 

Brews  good  ale  at  shore  o'  Bucky; 
I  wish  her  sale  for  her  gude  ale, 
The  best  on  a'  the  shore  o'  Bucky. 

Her  house  sae  bien,  her  curch  sae  clean, 

I  wat  she  is  a  dainty  chucky  ; 
And  cheerlie  blinks  the  ingle-gleed 
Of  Lady  Onlie,  honest  Lucky  ! 
Lady  Onlie,  honest  Lucky, 

Brews  gude  ale  at  shore  o'  Bucky ; 
I  wish  her  sale  for  her  gude  ale, 
The  best  on  a'  the  shore  o'  Bucky. 


AS    I    WAS    A    WANDERING. 
Tune— '/?/««  meudial  mo  nikealladk? 

AS  I  was  a  wand'ring  ae  midsummer  e'enin', 

The  pipers  and  youngsters  were  making  their  game  ; 

Amang  them  I  spied  my  faithless  fause  lover, 
Which  bled  a'  the  wounds  o'  my  dolour  again. 

Weel,  since  he  has  left  me,  may  pleasure  gae  wi'  him; 

I  may  be  distress'd,  but  I  winna  complain  ; 
I  flatter  my  fancy  I  may  get  anither, 

My  heart  it  shall  never  be  broken  for  ane. 

I  could  na  get  sleeping  till  dawin'  for  greetin', 

The  tears  trickled  down  like  the  hail  and  the  rain  ; 

Had  I  na  got  greetin',  my  heart  wad  a  broken, 
For,  oh  !  love  forsaken 's  a  tormenting  pain. 


COME  BOAT  ME  O'ER  TO  CHARLIE. 


2S3 


Altho*  he  has  left  me  for  greed  o'  the  siller, 
I  dinna  envy  him  the  gains  he  can  win  ; 

I  rather  wad  bear  a'  the  lade  o'  my  sorrow 
Than  ever  hae  acted  sae  faithless  to  him. 

Weel,  since  he  has  left  me,  may  pleasure  gae  wi'  him, 
I  may  be  distress'd,  but  I  winna  complain ; 

I  flatter  my  fancy  I  may  get  anither, 

My  heart  it  shall  never  be  broken  for  ane. 


BANNOCKS  O'  BARLEY. 

Tune—'  The  Killogie: 

Bannocks  o'  bear  meal, 

Bannocks  o'  barley  ; 
Here's  to  the  Highlandman's 

Bannocks  o'  barley. 
Wha  in  a  brulzie 

Will  first  cry  a  parley  ? 
Never  the  lads  wi' 

The  bannocks  o'  barley. 

Bannocks  o'  bear  meal, 

Bannocks  o'  barley ; 
Here's  to  the  lads  wi' 

The  bannocks  o'  barley  ; 
Wha  in  his  wae-days 

Were  loyal  to  Charlie  ? 
Wha  but  the  lads  wi' 

The  bannocks  o'  barley. 


OUR  THRISSLES  FLOURISHED 
FRESH  AND  FAIR. 

Tune  —  ' Aiva   Whigs,  awa.' 

CHORUS. 
Awa  Whigs,  awa  ! 

Awa  Whigs,  awa  ! 
Ye're  but  a  pack  o'  traitor  louhs, 

Ye'll  do  nae  good  at  a'. 

Our  thrissles  flourish' d  fresh  and  fair, 
And  bonie  bloom'd  our  roses  ; 

But  Whigs  came  like  a  frost  in  June, 
And  wither'd  a'  our  posies. 

Our  ancient  crown's  fa'n  in  the  dust — 
Deil  blin'  them  wi'  the  stoure  o't ; 

And  write  their  names   in   his  black 
beuk, 
Wha  gae  the  Whigs  the  power  o't. 


Our  sad  decay  in  Church  and  State 

Surpasses  my  descriving ; 
The  Whigs  came  o'er  us  for  a  curse. 

And  we  hae  done  with  thriving. 

Grim  vengeance  lang  has  ta'en  a  nap, 
But  we  may  see  him  wauken ; 

Gude  help  the  day  when  royal  heads 
Are  hunted  like  a  maukin. 

Awa  Whigs,  awa  ! 

Awa  Whigs,  awa  ! 
Ye're  but  a  pack  o'  traitor  louns, 

Ye'll  do  nae  gude  at  a\ 

peg-a-ramsey; 

Tune—  'Cauld is  the  e'eniri  blast* 

Cauld  is  the  e'enin'  blast 
O'  Boreas  o'er  the  pool, 

And  dawin'  it  is  dreary 
When  birks  are  bare  at  Yule. 

O  bitter  blaws  the  e'enin'  blast 
•When  bitter  bites  the  frost, 

And  in  the  mirk  and  dreary  drift 
The  hills  and  glens  are  lost. 

Ne'er  sae  murky  blew  the  night 
That  drifted  o'er  the  hill, 

But  bonie  Peg-a-Rarnsey 
Gat  grist  to  her  mill. 


COME  BOAT   ME  O'ER  TO 
CHARLIE. 

Tune— 'O'er  the  water  to  Charlie* 

Come  boat  me  o'er,  come  row  me  o'er, 
Come  boat  me  o'er  to  Charlie  ; 

I'll  gie  John  Ross  another  bawbee, 
•To  boat  me  o'er  to  Charlie. 


254 


THE  LASS  OF  ECCLEFECHAN. 


We'll  o'er  the  water  and  o'er  the 
sea, 
We'll  o'er  the  water  to  Charlie  ; 
Come  weal,  come  woe,  we'll  gather 
and  go, 
And  live  or  die  wi'  Charlie. 

I  lo'e  weel  my  Charlie's  name, 
Tho'  some  there  be  abhor  him  : 

But  O,  to  see  auld  Nick  gaun  hame, 
And  Charlie's  faes  before  him  ! 

I  swear  and  vow  by  moon  and  stars, 

And  sun  that  shines  so  early, 
If  I  had  twenty  thousand  lives, 
I'd  die  as  aft  for  Charlie. 

We'll  o'er  the  water  and  o'er  the 
sea, 
We'll  o'er  the  water  to  Charlie  ; 
Come  weal,  come  woe,  we'll  gather 
and  go, 
And  live  or  die  with  Charlie  ! 


BRAW   LADS   OF   GALLA 

WATER. 

Tune-'  Galla  Water: 

CHORUS. 

Braw,  braw  lads  of  Galla  Water' ; 

O  braw  lads  of  Galla  Water  ! 
I'll  kilt  my  coats  aboon  my  knee, 

And  follow  my  love  through  the 
water. 

Sae  fair  her  hair,  sae  brent  her  brow, 
Sae  bonie  blue  her  een,  my  dearie  ; 

Sae  white  her  teeth,  sae  sweet  her  mou\ 
The  mair  I  kiss  she's  ay  my  dearie. 

O'er  yon  bank  and  o'er  yon  brae. 

O'er  yon  moss  amang  the  heather  ; 
I'll  kilt  my  coats  aboon  my  knee, 

And  follow  my  love  through  the  water. 

Down  amang  the  broom,  the  broom, 

Down  amang  the  broom,  my  dearie, 
The  lassie  lost  a  silken  snood, 

That  cost  her  mony  a  blirt  and  bleary. 
Braw,  braw  lads  of  Galla  Water  ; 

O  braw  lads  of  Galla  Water  : 
I'll  kilt  my  coats  aboon  my  knee, 
And  follow  my  love  through  the 
water. 


COMING  THROUGH  THE  RYE. 

Tune — 'Coming  through  the  rye: 

Coming  through  the  rye,  poor  body, 

Coming  through  the  rye, 
She  draiglet  a'  her  petticoatie, 

Coming  through  the  rye. 
Jenny's  a'  wat,  poor  body, 

Jenny's  seldom  dry ; 
She  draiglet  a'  her  petticoatie, 

Coming  through  the  rye. 

Gin  a  body  meet  a  body — 
Coming  through  the  rye ; 

Gin  a  body  kiss  a  body — 
Need  a  body  cry  ? 

Gin  a  body  meet  a  body 

Coming  through  the  glen, 
Gin  a  body  kiss  a  body — 

Need  the  world  ken  ? 
Jenny's  a'  wat,  poor  body; 

Jenny's  seldom  dry; 
She  draiglet  a'  her  petticoatie, 

Coming  through  the  rye. 


THE  LASS  OF  ECCLEFECHAN. 

Tune—'  Jacky  Latin.* 

Gat  ye  me,  O  gat  ye  me, 

O  gat  ye  me  wi'  naething  ? 
Rock  and  reel,  and  spinnin'  wheel, 

A  mickle  quarter  basin. 
Bye  attour,  my  gutcher  has 

A  hich  house  and  a  laigh  ane, 
A'  forbye,  my  bonie  sel', 

The  toss  of  Ecclefechan. 

0  baud  your  tongue  now,  Luckie  Laing, 

0  haud  your  tongue  and  jauner  ; 

1  held  the  gate  till  you  I  met, 

Syne  I  began  to  wander  : 
I  tint  my  whistle  and  my  sang, 

1  tint  my  peace  and  pleasure  ; 

But  your  green    graff,    now,    Luckie 
Laing, 
Wad  airt  me  to  my  treasure. 


HER  DAD  DIE  FORBAD. 


*5* 


THE  SLAVE'S  LAMENT. 

It  was  in  sweet  Senegal  that  my  foes  did  me  enthral, 

For  the  lands  of  Virginia,  O  ; 
Torn  from  that  lovely  shore,  and  must  never  see  it  more, 

And  alas  I  am  weary,  weary,  O  ! 

All  on  that  charming  coast  is  no  bitter  snow  or  frost, 

Like  the  lands  of  Virginia,  O  ; 
There  streams  for  ever  flow,  and  there  flowers  for  ever  blow, 

And  alas  I  am  weary,  weary,  O  ! 

The  burden  I  must  bear,  while  the  cruel  scourge  I  fear, 

In  the  lands  of  Virginia,  O  ; 
And  I  think  on  friends  most  dear,  with  the  bitter,  bitter  tear, 

And  alas  I  am  weary,  weary,  O  ! 


HAD  I  THE  WYTE. 
Tune—'  "Had I  the  ivyte  she  bade  me.* 

Had  I  the  wyte,  had  I  the  wyte, 

Had  I  the  wyte  she  bade  me  ; 
She  watch' d  me  by  the  hie-gate  side, 

And  up  the  loan  she  shaw'd  me  ; 
And  when  I  wadna  venture  in, 

A  coward  loon  she  ca'd  me  ; 
Had  kirk  and  state  been  in  the  gate, 

I  lighted  when  she  bade  me. 

Sae  craftilie  she  took  me  ben, 

And  bade  me  make  nae  clatter  ;x 
c  P'or  our  ramgunshoch  glum  gudeman 

Is  out  and  owre  the  water  : ' 
Whae'er  shall  say  I  wanted  grace, 

When  I  did  kiss  and  dawte  her, 
Let  him  be  planted  in  my  place, 

Syne  say  I  was  the  fautor. 

Could  I  for  shame,  could  I  for  shame, 

Could  I  for  shame  refused  her  ? 
And  wadna  manhood  been  to  blame, 

Had  I  unkindly  used  her  ? 
He  clawed  her  wi'  the  ripplin-kame, 

And  blue  and  bluidy  bruised  her ; 
When  sic  a  husband  was  frae  hame, 

"What  wife  but  had  excused  her  ? ' 

I  dighted  ay  her  een  sae  blue, 

And  bann'd  the  cruel  randy  ; 
And  weel  I  wat  her  willing  mou* 

Was  e'en  like  sugar-candy. 
A  gloamin-shot  it  was  I  trow, 

I  lighted  on  the  Monday  ; 
But  I  cam  through  the  Tysday's  dew, 

To  wanton  Willie's  brandy. 


HEE  BALOU. 

Tune—'  The  Highland  baton.* 

Hee  balou  !  my  sweet  wee  Donald, 
Picture  o'  the  great  Clanronald^ 
Brawlie  kens  our  wanton  chief 
Wha  got  my  young  Highland  thief. 

Leeze  me  on  thy  bonie  craigie, 
An'  thou  live,  thou'll  steal  a  naigie  \ 
Travel  the  country  thro'  and  thro', 
And  bring  hame  a  Carlisle  cow. 

Thro*  the  Lawlands,  o'er  the  border, 
Weel,  my  babie,  may  thou  furder  t 
Herry  the  louns  o'  the  laigh  countree, 
Syne  to  the  Highlands -hame  to  me. 

HER  DADDIE  FORBAD; 
Tune— 'Jumph!  John.* 

&ER  daddie  forbad,  her  minnie  forbad ; 

Forbidden  she  wadna  be  : 
She  wadna  trow't,  the  browst  she  brew'd 
Wad  taste  sae  bitterlie. 
The  lang  lad  they  ca'  Jumpin' John 

Beguiled  the  bonie  lassie, 
The  lang  lad  they  ca'  Jumpin' John 
Beguiled  the  bonie  lassie. 

A  cow  and  a  cauf,  a  yowe  and  a  hauf, 

And  thretty  gude  shillin's  and  three  ; 
A  vera  gude  tocher,    a    cotter-man's 
dochter, 
The  lass  with  the  bonie  black  ee. 
The  lang  lad  they  ca'  Jumpin'  John 

Beguiled  the  bonie  lassie, 
The  lang  lad  they  ca'  Jumpin  John 
Beguiled  the  bonie  lassie. 


2S6 


THE  JOYFUL   WIDOWER. 


HERE'S  TO  THY  HEALTH,  MY 
BONIE  LASS. 

Tune — *  Laggan  Burn* 

Here's  to  thy  health,  my  bonie  lass, 
Gude  night,  and  joy  be  wi'  thee ; 

I'll  come  nae  mair  to  thy  bower  door, 
To  tell  thee  that  I  lo'e  thee. 

0  dinna  think,  my  pretty  pink, 
But  I  can  live  without  thee : 

1  vow  and  swear  I  dinna  care 
How  lang  ye  look  about  ye. 

Thou'rt  ay  sae  free  informing  me 

Thou  hast  nae  mind  to  marry  ; 
I'll  be  as  free  informing  thee 

Nae  time  hae  I  .to  tarry. 
I  ken  thy  friends  try  ilka  means, 

Frae  wedlock  to  delay  thee  ; 
Dependmg.on  some  higher  chance — 

But  fortune  may  betray  thee. 

I  ken  they  scorn  my  low  estate, 

But  that  does  never  grieve  me  ; 
But  I'm  as  free  as  any  he, 

Sma'  siller  will  relieve  me. 
I  count  my  health  my  greatest  wealth, 

Sae  lang  as  I'll  enjoy  it : 
I'll  fear  nae  scant,  I'll  bode  nae  want, 

As  lang's  I  get  employment. 

But  far  aff  fowls  hae  feathers  fair. 

And  ay  until  ye  try  them : 
Tho'  they  seem  fair,  still  have  a  care, 

They  may  prove  waur  than  I  am. 
But  at  twal  at  night,  when  the  moon 
shines  bright, 

My  dear,  I'll  come  and  see  thee  ; 
For  the  man  that  lo'es  his  mistress  weel 

Nae  travel  makes  him  weaiy. 


HEY,  THE  DUSTY  MILLER. 

Tune—'  The  Dttsly  Miller.* 

Hey,  the  dusty  miller, 

And  his  dusty  coat  ; 

He  will  win  a  shilling, 

Or  he  spend  a  groat. 

Dusty  was  the  coat, 

Dusty  was  the  colour, 
Dusty  was  the  kiss 
That  I  got  frae  the  miller. 


Hey,  the  dusty  miller, 
And  his  dusty  sack  ; 
Leeze  me  on  the  calling 
Fills  the  dusty  peck. 
Fills  the  dusty  peck, 

Brings  the  dusty  siller ; 
I  wad  gie  my  coatie 
For  the  dusty  miller. 


THE  CARDIN'  O'T. 

Tune—'  Salt  Fish  and  Dumplings? 

I  CO  ft  a  stane  o'  haslock  woo', 

To  make  a  coat  to  Johnny  o't ; 
For  Johnny  is  my  only  jo, 
I  lo'e  him  best  of  ony  yet. 
The  cardin'  o't,  the  spinnin'  o't  ; 

The  warpin'  o't,  the  winnin'  o't 
When  ilka  ell  cost  me  a  groat, 
The  tailor  staw  the  lynin  o't. 

For  though  his  locks  be  lyart  gray, 

And  though  his  brow  be  beld  aboon  5 
Yet  I  hae  seen  him  on  a  day, 
The  pride  of  a'  the  parishen.. 
The  cardin'  o't,  the  spinnin*  o't, 

The  warpin'  o't,  the  winnin'  o't ; 
When  ilka  ell  cost  me  a  groat, 
The  tailor  staw  the  lynin  o't. 


THE  JOYFUL  WIDOWER. 

Tune—'  Maggy  Lauder.* 

I  married  with  a  scolding  wife 

The  fourteenth  of  November ; 
She  made  me  weary  of  my  life, 

By  one  unruly  member. 
Long  did  I  bear  the  heavy  yoke, 

And  many  griefs  attended  ; 
But,  to  my  comfort  be  it  spoke, 

Now,  now  her  life  is  ended. 

We  lived  full  one-and-twenty  years 

A  man  anfl  wife  together ; 
At  length  from  me  her  course  she  steer'd, 

And  gone  I  know  not  whither: 
Would  I  could  guess,  I  do  profess, 

I  speak,  and  do  not  flatter, 
Of  all  the  women  in  the  world, 

I  never  could  come  at  her. 


IT  IS  NA,  JEAN,  THY  BONIE  FACE: 


*S7 


Her  body  is  bestowed  well, 

A  handsome  grave  does  hide  her  j. 
But  sure  her  soul  is  not  in  hell, 

The  deil  would  ne'er  abide  her. 
I  rather  think  she  is  aloft, 

And  imitating  thunder ; 
For  why, — methinks  I  hear  her  voice 

Tearing  the  clouds  asunder. 


THENIEL  MENZIE'S  BONIE 

MARY. 

Tune—'  The  Ruffian's  rant* 

In  coming  by  the  brig  o'  Dye, 

At  Darlet  we  a  blink  did  tarry ; 
As  day  was  dawin  in  the  sky 

We  drank  a  health  to  bonie  Mary. 
Theniel  Menzie's  bonie  Mary, 

Theniel  Menzie's  bonie  Mary ; 
Charlie  Gregor  tint  his  plaidie, 
Kissin'  Theniel's  bonie  Mary. 

Her  een  sae  bright,  her  brow  sae  white, 
Her  haffet  locks  as  brown's  a  berry, 
An'  ay  they  dimpled  wi'  a  smile 
The  rosy  cheeks  o'  bonie  Mary. 
Theniel  Menzie's  bonie  Mary, 

Theniel  Menzie's  bonie  Mary ; 
Charlie  Gregor  tint  his  plaidie, 
Kissin'  Theniel's  bonie  Mary. 

We  lap  an'  danced  the  lee-lang  day, 

Till  piper  lads  were  wae  an'  weary, 
But  Charlie  gat  the  spring  .to  pay 
For  kissin'  Theniel  s  bonie  Mary. 
Theniel  Menzie's  bonie  Mary, 

Theniel  Menzie's  bonie  Mary  ; 
Charlie  Gregor  tint  his  plaidie, 
Kissin'  Theniel's  bonie  Mary. 


THE  FAREWELL.- 

Tune — '//  was  a*  for  oitr  right/if  King* 

It  was  a'  for  our  rightfu'  King, 

We  left  fair  Scotland's  strand  ; 
It  was  a'  for  our  rightfu'  King 
We  e'er  saw  Irish  land, 

My  dear ; 
We  e'er  saw  Irish  land. 
B 


Now  a'  is  done  that  men  can  do* 

And  a'  is  done  in  vain ; 
My  love  and  native  land  farewell, 

For  I  maun  cross  the  main, 
My  dear ; 

For  I  maun  cross  the  main., 

He  turn'd  him  right  and  round  about 

Upon  the  Irish  shore ; 
And  gae  his  bridle-reins  a  shake, 

With  adieu  for  evermore, 
My  dear ; 

With  adieu  for  evermore. 

The  sodger  from  the  wars  returns, 

The  sailor  frae  the  main  ; 
But  I  hae  parted  frae  my  love, 

Never  to  meet  again, 

My  dear ; 

Never  to  meet  again. 

When  day  is  gane,  and  night  is  come, 
And  a'  folk  bound  to  sleep  ; 

I  think  on  him  that's  far  awa', 
The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep, 

My  dear ; 
The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep. 


IT  IS  NA,  JEAN,  THY  BONIE 
FACE. 

Tune—'  The  Maid's  Complaint.* 

It  is  na,  Jean,  thy  bonie  face, 

Nor  shape  that  I  admire, 
Although  thy  beauty  and  thy  grace 

Might  weel  awake  desire. 
Something,  in  ilka  part  o'  thee, 

To  praise,  to  love,  I  find  ; 
But  dear  as  is  thy  form  to  me, 

Still  dearer  is  thy  mind. 

Nae  mair  ungen'rous  wish  I  hae, 

Nor  stronger  in  my  breast, 
Than  if  I  canna  mak  thee  sae, 

At  least  to  see  thee  blest. 
Content  am  I,  if  Heaven  shall  give 

But  happiness  to  thee  : 
And  as  wi  thee  I'd  wish  to  live, 

For  thee  I'd  bear  to  die. 


258 


MY  HEART  WAS  ANCE. 


JAMIE,  COME  TRY  ME. 

Tune— 'Jamie,  come  try  me. 

CHORUS. 

Jamie,  come  try  me, 
Jamie,  come  try  me ; 
If  thou  would  win  my  love, 
Jamie,  come  try  me. 

If  thou  should  ask  my  love, 

Could  I  deny  thee  ? 
If  thou  would  win  my  love, 

Jamie,  come  try  me. 

If  thou  should  kiss  me,  love, 

Wha  could  espy  thee  ? 
If  thou  wad  be  my  love, 

Jamie,  come  try  me. 
Jamie,  come  try  me  &c. 

LANDLADY,  COUNT  THE 

LAWIN. 

Tune— 'Hey  tutti,  taiti.* 

Landlady,  count -the  lawin, 
The  day  is  near  the  dawin  ; 
Ye're  a'  blind  drunk,  boys, 
And  I'm  but  jolly  fou. 

Hey  tutti,  taiti, 

How  tutti,  taiti — 

Wha's  fou  now  ? 

Cog  an'  ye  were  ay  fou, 
Cog  an'  ye  were  ay  fou, 
I  wad  sit  arid  sing  to  you 
If  ye  were  ay  fou. 

Weel  may  ye  a'  beW 
III  may  we  never  see  ! 
God  bless  the  King,  boys, 
And  the  companie  ! 

Hey  tutti,  taiti, 

How  tutti,  taiti — 

'Wha's  fou  now  ? 

MY  LOVE  SHE'S  BUT  A  LASSIE 
YET, 

Tune—'  Lady  BadinscotXs  reel' 

My  love  she's  but  a  lassie  yet ; 

My  love  she's  but  a  lassie  yet ; 
We'll  let  her  stand  a  year  or  twa, 

She'll  no  be  half  sae  saucy  yet. 


I  rue  the  day  I  sought  her,  O, 
I  rue  the  day  I  sought  her,  O  ; 

Wha  gets  her  needs  na  say  she's  woo'd, 
But  he  may  say  he's  bought  her,  O  ! 

Come,  draw  a  drap  o'  the  best  o't  yet ; 

Come,  draw  a  drap  o'  the  best  o't  yet ; 
Gae  seek  for  pleasure  where  ye  will, 

But  here  I  never  miss'd  it  yet. 
We're  a'  dry  wi'  drinking  o't, 

We're  a'  dry  wi'  drinking  o't ; 
The  minister  kiss'd  the  fiddler's  wife, 

An'  could  na  preach  for  thinkin'  o't. 


MY  HEART  WAS  ANCE. 

Tune—*  To  th-e  weavers  gin  ye  go* 

My  heart  was  ance  as  blythe  and  free 

As  simmer  days  were  lang, 
But  a  bonie,  westlin  weaver  lad 
Has  gart  me  change  my  sang. 
To  the  weavers  gin  ye  go,   fair 
maids, 
To  the  weavers  gin  ye  go  j 
I  rede  you  right  gang   ne'er   at 
night, 
To  the  weavers  gin  ye  go. 

My  mither  sent  me  to  the  town, 

To  warp  a  plaiden  wab  ; 
But  the  weary,  weary  warpin  o't 

Has  gart  me  sigh  and  sab. 

A  bonie  westlin  weaver  lad 

Sat  working  at  his  loom  ; 
He  took  my  heart  as  wi'  a  net, 

In  every  knot  and  thrum. 

I  sat  beside  my  warpin-wheel, 

And  ay  I  ca'd  it  roun' ; 
But  every  shot  and  every  knock, 

My  heart  it  gae  a  stoun. 

The  moon  was  sinking  in  the  west 

Wi'  visage  pale  and  wan, 
As  my  bonie  westlin  weaver  lad 

Convoy 'd  me  through  the  glen. 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  LADY, 


259 


But  what  was  said,  or  what  was  done, 

Shame  fa'  me  gin  I  tell ; 
But  oh  !  I  fear  the  kintra  soon 

Will  ken  as  weel's  mysel. 

To  the  weavers  gin  ye  go,  fair  maids, 
To  the  weavers  gin  ye  go  ; 

I  rede  you  right  gang  ne'er  at  night, 
To  the  weavers  gin  ye  go. 


LOVELY  DAVIES. 

Tu  n'e  - '  Miss  Muir. ' 

O  HOW  shall  I,  unskilfu',  try 

The  poet's  occupation, 
The  tunefu'  powers,  in  happy  hours, 

That  whisper  inspiration  ? 
Even'  they  maun  dare  an  effort  mair, 

Than  aught  they  ever  gave  us, 
Or  they  rehearse,  in  equal  verse, 

The  charms  o'  lovely  Davies. 

Each  eye  it  cheers,  when  she  appears, 

Like  Phoebus  in  the  morning, 
When  past  the  shower,  and  ev'ry  flower 

The  garden  is  adorning. 
As  the  wretch  looks  o'er  Siberia's  shore, 

When  winter-bound  the  wave  is ; 
Sae  droops  our  heart  when  we  maun  part 

Frae  charming  lovely  Davies. 

Her  smile's  a  gift,  frae  'boon  the  lift, 

That  maks  us  mair  than  princes ; 
A  scepter'd  hand,  a  King's  command, 

Is  in  her  darting  glances  : 
The  man  in  arms,  'gainst  female  charms, 

Even  he  her  willing  slave  is  ; 
He  hugs  his  chain,  and  owns  the  reign 

Of  conquering,  lovely  JDavies. 

My  Muse  to  dream  of  such  a  theme^ 

Her  feeble  powers  surrender ; 
The  eagle's  gaze  alone  surveys 

The  sun's  meridian  splendour : 
1  wad  in  vain  essay  the  strain, 

The  deed  too  daring  brave  is ; 
I'll  drap  the  lyre,  and  mute  admire 

The  charms  0'  lovely  Davies. 


KENMURE'S  ON  AND  AWA. 

Tune  — '  O  Kenmure  's  on  and  awa,  Willie. 

O  Kenmure's  on  and  awa,  Willie  ! 

O  Kenmure's  on  and  awa  ! 
And  Kenmure's  lord 's  the  bravest  lord 

That  ever  Galloway  saw. 

Success  to  Kenmure's  band,  Willie  ! 

Success  to  Kenmure's  band  ; 
There's  no  a  heart  that  fears  a  Whig 

That  rides  by  Kenmure's  hand. 

Here's  Kenmure's  health  in  wine,  Willie ! 

Here's  Kenmure's  health  in  wine ; 
There  ne'er  was  a  coward  o'  Kenmure  V 

Nor  yet  o'  Gordon's  line.         [blude, 

O  Kenmure's  lads  are  men,  Willie  ! 

O  Kenmure's  lads  are  men ; 
Their  hearts  and  swords  are  metal  true— ■ 

And  that  their  faes  shall  ken. 

They'll  live  or  die  wi'  fame,  Willie  ! 

They'll  live  or  die  wi'  fame ; 
But  soon,  wi'  sounding  victorie, 

May  Kenmure's  lord  come  hame. 

Here's  him  that's  far  awa,  Willie  ! 

Here's  him  that's  far  awa  ; 
And  here's  the  flower  that  I  love  best — 

The  rose  that's  like  the  snaw  ! 

THE  CAPTAIN'S  LADY. 
Tune — '  O  mount  andgo.% 
CHORUS. 
O  mount  and  go, 

Mount  and  make  you  ready ; 
O  mount  and  go, 

And  be  the  Captain's  Lady. 

When  the  drums  do  beat, 

And  the  cannons  rattle, 
Thou  shalt  sit  in  state, 

And  see  thy  love  in  battle. 

When  the  vanquish'd  foe 

Sues  for  peace  and  quiet, 
.To  the  shades  we'll  go, 

And  in  love  enjoy  it. 

O  mount  and  go, 

Mount  and  make  you  ready ; 
0  mount  and  go, 

And  be  the  Captain's  Lady. 

S3 


2$0 


MERRY  HAE  I  BEEN*  TEETH/AT  A  HECKLE. 


LADY  MARY  ANN. 
Tune — '  Cragtown's  growing* 

O,  Lady  Mary  Ann 

Looks  o'er  the  castle  wa*, 
She  saw  three  bonie  boys 

Playing  at  the  ba' ; 
The  youngest  he  was 

The  flower  amang  them  a*; 
My  bonie  laddie 's  young, 

But  he's  growin'  yet. 

O  father  !  O  father ! 

An'  ye  think  it  fit, 
We'll  send  him  a  year 

To  the  college  yet : 
We'll  sew  a  green  ribbon 

Round  about  his  hat, 
And  that  will  let  them  ken 

He's  to  marry  yet. 

Lady  Mary  Ann 

Was  a  flower  i'  the  dew, 
Sweet  was  its  smell, 

And  bonie  was  its  hue  I 
And  the  langer  it  blossom 'd 

The  sweeter  it  grew ; 
For  the  lily  in  the  bud 

Will  be  bonier  yet. 

Young  Charlie  Cochran 

Was  the  sprout  of  an  aik ; 
Bonie  and  bloomin' 

And  straught  was  its  make  : 
The  sun  took  delight 

To  shine  for  its  sake, 
And  it  will  be  the  brag 

O'  the  forest  yet. 

The  simmer  is  gane 

When  the  leaves  they  were  green, 
And  the  days  are  awa 

That  we  hae  seen  : 
But  far  better  days 

I  trust  will  come  again, 
For  my  bonie  laddie 's  young, 

But  he's  growin'  yet. 


THE    HIGHLAND    WIDOW'S 
LAMENT. 

Oh  !  I  am  come  to  the  low  countrie, 

Och-on,  och-on,  och-rie ! 
Without  a  penny  in  my  purse, 

To  buy  a  meal  to  me. 

It  was  nae  sae  in  the  Highland  hills, 

Och-on,  och-on,  och-rie ! 
Nae  woman  in  the  country  wide 

Sae  happy  was  as  me. 

For  then  I  had  a  score  o'  kye, 

Och-on,  och-on,  och-rie  ! 
Feeding  on  yon  hills  so  high, 

And  giving  milk  to  me. 

And  there  I  had  three  score  o'  yowes, 

Och-on,  och-on,  och-rie ! 
Skipping  on  yon  bonie  knowes, 

And  casting  woo'  to  me. 

I  was  the  happiest  of  the  clan, 

Sair,  sair  may  I  repine  ; 
For  Donald  was  the  brawest  lad, 

And  Donald  he  was  mine; 

Till  Charlie  Stewart  cam  at  last, 

Sae  far  to  set  us  free ; 
My  Donald's  arm  was  wanted  then, 

For  Scotland  and  for  me. 

Their  waefu'  fate  what  need  I  tell, 
Right  to  the  wrang  did  yield  : 

My  Donald  and  his  country  fell 
Upon  Culloden's  field. 

Oh  !  I  am  come  to  the  low  countrie, 

Och-on,  och-on,  och-rie ! 
Nae  woman  in  the  world  wide 

Sae  wretched  now  as  me. 


MERRY  HAE  I  BEEN  TEETHIN'  A  HECKLE. 

Tune—'  Lord  Breadalbane's  March* 

O  merry  hae  I  been  teethin'  a  heckle, 
And  merry  hae  I  been  shapin'  a  spoon  ; 

O  merry  hae  I  been  cloutin  a  kettle, 

And  kissin'  my  Katie  when  a'  was  done. 


0  M ALLY'S  MEEK%  M ALLY'S  SWEET. 


26! 


O  a'  the  lang  day  I  ca'  at  my  hammer, 
An*  a'  the  lang  day  I  whistle  and  sing, 

A*  the  lang  night  I  cuddle  my  kimmer, 
An'  a'  the  lang  night  as  nappy's  a  King. 

Bitter  in  dool  I  lickit  my  winnins, 

O'  marrying  Bess,  to  gie  her  a  slave  : 
Bless'd  be  the  hour  she  cool'd  in  her  linnens, 

And  blythe  be  the  bird  that  sings  on  her  grave. 
Come  to  my  arms,  my  Katie,  my  Katie, 

An'  come  to  my  arms,  and  kiss  me  again  \ 
Drunken  or  sober,  here's  to  thee,  Katie  ! 

And  bless'd  be  the  day  I  did  it  again. 


RATTLIN\  ROARIN'  WILLIE. 

Tune—'  Rattling  roarin*  Willie.* 

O  rattlin',  roarin'  Willie, 

O,  he  held  to  the  fair, 
An*  for  to  sell  his  fiddle, 

An'  buy  some  other  ware  ; 
But  parting  wi'  his  fiddle, 

The  saut  tear  blin't  his  ee  ; 
And  rattlin',  roarin'  Willie, 

Ye're  welcome  hame  to  me ! 

O  Willie,  come  sell  your  fiddle, 
O  sell  your  fiddle  sae  fine ; 


O  Willie,  come  sell  your  fiddle, 

And  buy  a  pint  o'  wine  ! 
If  I  should  sell  my  fiddle, 

The  warl'  would  think  I  was  mad  j 
For  mony  a  rantin'  day 

My  fiddle  and  I  hae  had. 

As  I  cam  by  Crochallan, 

I  cannily  keekit  ben— 
Rattlin',  roarin'  Willie 

Was  sitting  at  yon  board  en', 
Sitting  at  yon  board  en', 

And  amang  guid  companie  ; 
Rattlin',  roarin'  Willie, 

Ye're  welcome  hame  to  me  T 


O  M ALLY'S  MEEK,  M ALLY'S  SWEET. 

O  Mally's  meek,  Mally's  sweet, 

Mally's  modest  and  discreet, 
Mally's  rare,  Mally's  fair, 

Mally's  every  way  complete. 
As  I  was  walking  up  the  street, 

A  barefit  maid  I  chanced  to  meet ; 
But  O  the  road  was  very  hard 

For  that  fair  maiden's  tender  feet. 

It  were  mair  meet  that  those  fine  feet 
Were  weel  laced  up  in  silken  shoon, 

And  'twere  more  fit  that  she  should  sit 
Within  yon  chariot  gilt  aboon. 

Her  yellow  hair,  beyond  compare, 

Comes  trinkling  down  her  swan-white  neck, 
And  her  two  eyes,  like  stars  in  skies, 

Would  keep  a  sinking  ship  frae  wreck. 
O  Mally's  meek,  Mally's  sweet, 

Mally  's  modest  and-discreet, 
Mally  's  rare,  Mally 's  fair, 

Mally's  every  way  complete. 


26a 


THE  FETE  CHAMPETRE. 


SAE  FAR  AWA. 

Tunis,—* Dalkeith  Maiden  Bridge.' 

O  SAD  and  heavy  should  I  part, 

But  for  her  sake  sae  far  awa  ; 
Unknowing  what  my  way  may  thwart 

My  native  land  sae  far  awa. 
Thou  that  of  a*  things  Maker  art, 

That  form'd  this  Fair  sae  far  awa, 
Gie  body  strength,  then  I'll  ne'er  start 

At  this  my  way  sae  far  awa. 

How  true  is  love  to  pure  desert, 

So  love  to  her,  sae  far  awa  : 
And  nocht  can  heal  my  bosom's  smart, 

While,  oh  !  she  is  sae  far  awa, 
Nane  other  love,  nane  other  dart, 

I  feel  but  her's,  sae  far  awa  ; 
But  fairer  never  touch'd  a  heart 

Than  her's,  the  fair  sae  far  awa. 


O  STEER  HER  UP. 

Tune—*  O  steer  her  upt  and  hand  her  gaun.* 

O  steer  her  up,  and  haud  her  gaun — 

Her  mother's  at  the  mill,  jo  ; 
And  gin  she  winna  take  a  man, 

E'en  let  her  take  her  will,  jo : 
First  shore  her  wi'  a  kindly  kiss, 

And  ca'  another  gill,  jo, 
And  gin  she  take  the  tiling  amiss, 

E'en  let  her  flyte  her  fill,  jo. 

O  steer  her  up,  and  be  na  blate, 

An'  gin  she  tak  it  ill,  jo, 
Then  lea'e  the  lassie  till  her  fate, 

And  time  nae  langer  spill,  jo  : 
Ne'er  break  your  heart  for  ae  rebute, 

But  think  upon  it  still,  jo ; 
Then  gin  the  lassie  winna  do't, 

Ye'll  fin'  anither  will,  jo. 


O,  WHAR  DID  YE  GET. 
Tune — '  Bonie  Dundee* 

^T  whar  did  ye  get  that  hauver  meal  bannock  ? 

O  silly  blind  body,  O  dinna  ye  see  ? 
I  gat  it  frae  a  brisk  young  sodger  laddie, 

Between  Saint  Johnston  and  bonie  Dundee. 
O  gin  I  saw  the  laddie  that  gae  me't ! 

Aft  has  he  doudled  me  on  his  knee ; 
May  Heaven  protect  my  bonie  Scots  laddie, 

And  send  him  safe  hame  to  his  babie  and  me  ! 

My  blessin's  upon  thy  sweet  wee  lippie, 

My  blessin's  upon  thy  bonie  e'e  brie  ! 
Thy  smiles  are  sae  like  my  blythe  sodger  laddie, 

Thou's  ay  the  dearer  and  dearer  to  me  ! 
But  I'll  big  a  bower  on  yon  bonie  banks, 

Where  Tay  rins  wimplin'  by  sae  clear  ; 
And  I'll  deed  thee  in  the  tartan  sae  fine, 

And  mak  thee  a  man  like  thy  daddie  dear. 

THE  FETE  CHAMPETRE. 

Tune—'  Killiecrankie.* 


O  WHA  will  to  Saint  Stephen's  house, 

To  do  our  errands  there,  man  ? 
O  wha  will  to  Saint  Stephen's  house, 

O'  th*  merry  lads  of  Ayr,  man  ? 
Or  will  we  send  a  man-o'-law  ? 

Or  will  we  send  a  sodger  ? 
Or  him  wha  led  o'er  Scotland  a* 

The  meikle  Ursa-Major  2 


Come,  will  ye  court  a  noble  lord, 

Or  buy  a  score  o'  lairds,  man? 
For  worth  and  honour  pawn  their  word, 

Their  vote  shall  be  Glencaird's,  man? 
Ane  gies  them  coin,  ane  gies  them  wine, 

Anither  gies  them  clatter  ; 
Anbank,  wha  guess'd  the  ladies'  taste, 

He  gies  a  Fete  Champetre, 


SIMMER'S  A  PLEASANT  TIME. 


26*3 


When  Love  and  Beauty  heard  the  news, 

The  gay  green-woods  amang,  man  ; 
Where  gathering  flowers  and  busking 
bowers, 

They  heard   the    blackbird's   sang, 
man  ; 
A  vow,  they  seal'd  it  with  a  kiss 

Sir  Politics  to  fetter, 
As  their's  alone,  the  patent-bliss, 

To  hold  a  Fete  Champetre. 

Then  mounted  Mirth,  on  gleesome  wing, 

O'er  hill  and  dale  she  flew,  man  ; 
Ilk  wimpling  burn,  ilk  "crystal  spring, 

'Ilk  glen  and  shaw  she  knew,  man  : 
She  summon' d  every  social  sprite, 

That  sports  by  wood  or  water, 
On  th'  bonie  banks  of  Ayr.  to  meet, 

And  keep  this  F£te  Champetre. 

Cauld "Boreas,  wi'  his  boisterous  crew, 

Were  bound  to  stakes  like  kye,  man; 
And  Cynthia's  car,  o'  silver  fu', 

Clamb  up  the  starry  sky,  man  : 
Reflected  beams  dwell  in  the  streams, 

Or  down  the  current  shatter ; 
The  western  breeze  steals  through  the 
trees, 

To  view  this  Fete  Champetre. 

How  many  a  robe  sae  gaily  floats  ! 

What  sparkling  jewels  glance,  man  ! 
To  Harmony's  enchanting  notes, 

As  moves  the  mazy  dance,  man  ! 
The  echoing  wood,  the  winding  flood, 

Like  Paradise  did  glitter, 
When  angels  met,  at  Adam's  yett, 

To  hold  their  Fete  Champetre. 


When  Politics  came  there,  to  mix 

And  make  his  ether-stane,  man  ! 
He  circled  round  the  magic  ground, 

But  entrance  found  he  nane,  man  : 
He  blush'd  for  shame,  he  quat  his  name, 

Forswore  it,  every  letter, 
Wr  humble  prayer  to  join  and  share 

This  festive  Fete  Champetre. 


SIMMER'S  A  PLEASANT  TIME. 
Tune— 'Ay  waukin,  0' 

Simmer's  a  pleasant  time, 
Flow'rs  of  ev'ry  colour ; 
The  water  rins  o'er  the  heugh, 
And  I  long  for  my  true  lover. 
Ay  waukin  O, 

Waukin  still  and  wearie  : 
Sleep  I  can  get  nane 
For  thinking,  on  my  dearie. 

When  I  sleep  I  dream, 

When  I  wauk  I'm  eerie ; 
Sleep  I  can  get  nane 

For  thinking  on  my  dearie. 

Lanely  night  comes  on, 

A'  the  lave  are  sleeping ; 
I  think  on  my  bonie  lad 
And  I  bleer  my  een  with  greetin*. 
Ay  waukin  O, 

Waukin  still  and  wearie  ; 
Sleep  I  can  get  nane 
For  thinking  on  my  dearie. 


THE  BLUDE  RED  ROSE  AT  YULE  MAY  BLAW 

Tune—*  To  daunton  me.* 

The  blude  red  rose  at  Yule  may  blaw, 
The  simmer  lilies  bloom  in  snaw, 
The  frost  may  freeze  the  deepest  sea  ; 
But  an  auld  man  shall  never  daunton'me. 

To  daunton  me,  and  me  sae  young, 
Wi'  his  fause  heart  and  flatt'ring  tongue, 
That  is  the  thing  you  ne'er  shall  see  ; 
For  an  auld  man  shall  never  daunton  me. 


264 


THE  COOPER  <T  CUDDIE. 


For  a'  his  meal  and  a'  his  maut, 
For  a'  his  fresh  beef  and  his  saut, 
For  a'  his  gold  and  white  monie, 
An  auld  man  shall  never  daunton  me. 

His  gear  may  buy  him  kye  and  yowes, 
His  gear  may  buy  him  glens  and.  knovves ; 
But  me  he  shall  not  buy  nor  fee, 
For  an  auld  man  shall  never  daunton  me. 

He  hirples  tvva  fauld  as  he  dow, 
Wi'  his  teethless  gab  and  his  auld  beld  pow, 
And  the  rain  rains  down  frae  his  red  bleer'd  ee- 
That  auld  man  shall  never  daunton  me. 

To  daunton  me,  and  me  sae  young, 
Wi*  his  fause  heart  and  flatt'ring  tongue, 
That  is  the  thing  you  ne'er  shall  see  ; 
For  an  auld  man  shall  never  daunton  me. 


THE  HIGHLAND  LADDIE. 

TUNE  —  'If  thou' It  play  me  fair  flay.' 

The  boniest  lad  that  e'er  I  saw, 

Bonie  laddie,  Highland  laddie, 
Wore  a  plaid  and  was  fu'  bravv, 

Bonie  Highland  laddie. 
On  his  head  a  bonnet  blue, 

Bonie  laddie,  Highland  laddie, 
His  royal  heart  was  firm  and  true, 

Bonie  Highland  laddie. 

Trumpets  sound  and  cannons  roar, 

Bonie  lassie,  Lawland  lassie, 
And  a'  the  hills  wi'  echoes  roar, 

Bonie  Lawland  lassie. 
Glory,  Honour,  now  invite, 

Bonie  lassie,  Lawland  lassie, 
For  Freedom  and  my  King  to  fight, 

Bonie  Lawland  lassie. 

The  sun  a  backward  course  shall  take, 

Bonie  laddie,  Highland  laddie, 
Fre  aught  thy  manly  courage  shake ; 
Bonie  Highland  laddie, 
for  yoursel  procure  renown, 
nie  laddie,  Highland  laddie, 
(or  your  lawful  King  his  crown, 
Highland  laddie  I 


THE  COOPER  0*  CUDDIE. 
Tune—*  Bah  at  the  dowster.' 


The 


o*    Cuddie    cam    here 


cooper 
awa, 
And  ca'd  the  girrs  out  owre  us  a* — 
And  our  gud'e-wife  has  gotten  a  ca* 

That  anger'd  the  silly  gude-m'an,  O. 
We'll  hide  the  cooper  behind  the  door, 
Behind  the  door,  behind  the  door  ; 
We'll  hide  the  cooper  behind  the  door, 
And  cover  him  under  a  mawn,  O. 


He  sought  them  out,  he  sought  them  in, 
Wi*,    Deil  hae    her !    and,    Deil    hae 

him ! 
But  the  body  was  sae  doited  and  blin', 
He  wist  na  where  he  was  gaun,  O. 

They  cooper'd  at  e'en,  they  cooper'd  at 

morn, 
Till  our  gude-man  has  gotten  the  scorn; 
On  ilka  brow  she's  planted  a  horn, 

And  swears  that  they  shall  stan',  O. 
We'll  hide  the  cooper  behind  the  door, 
Behind  the  door,  behind  the  door  ; 
We'll  hide  the  cooper  behind  the  door, 

And  cover  him  under  a  mawn,  O. 


THE  TITHE R  MORN. 


265 


NITHSDALE'S  WELCOME  HAME. 


THE  noble  Maxwells  and  their  powers 

Are  coming  o'er  the  border, 
And  they'll  gae  bigg  Terreagle's  towers, 

An'  set  them  a'  in  order, 
And  they  declare  Terreagle's  fair, 

For  their  abode  they  choose  it ; 
There's  no  a  heart  m  a'  the  land, 

But 's  lighter  at  the  news  o't 


Tho'  stars  in  skies  may  disappear, 

And  angry  tempests  gather ; 
The  happy  hour  may  soon  be  near 

That  brings  us  pleasant  weather : 
The  weary  night  o'  care  and  grief 

May  hae  a  joyful  morrow ; 
So  dawning  day  has  brought  relief— 

Fareweel  our  night  o'  sorrow ! 


THE  TAILOR. 
Tune—'  The  Tailor  fell  thro'  the  bed,  thimbles  an*  aV 

The  Tailor  fell  thro'  the  bed,  .thimbles  an'  a', 

The  Tailor  fell  thro'  the  bed,  thimbles  an'  a' ; 

The  blankets  were  thin,  and  the  sheets  they  were  sma', 

The  Tailor  fell  thro'  the  bed,  thimbles  an'  a\ 

The  sleepy  bit  lassie,  she  dreaded  nae  ill, 
The  sleepy  bit  lassie,  she  dreaded  nae  ill; 
The  weather  was  cauld,  and  the  lassie  lay  still, 
She  thought  that  a  tailor  could  do  her  nae  ill 

Gie  me  the  groat  again,  canny  young  man  ; 
Gie  me  the  groat  again,  canny  young  man  ; 
The  day  it  is  short,  and  the  night  it  is  lang, 
The  dearest  siller  that  ever  I  wan  I 

There's  somebody  weary  wi'  lying  her  lane ; 
There's  somebody  weary  wi'  lying  her  lane ; 
There's  some  that  are  dowie,  I  trow  wad  be  fain 
To  see  the  bit  tailor  come  skippin'  again. 

THE  TITHER  MORN. 


The  tither  morn, 

When  I  forlorn, 
Aneath  an  aik  sat  moaning, 

I  did  na  trow, 

I'd  see  my  Jo, 
"Beside  me,  gain  the  gloaming. 

But  he  sae  trig, 

Lap  o'er  the  rig, 
And  dawtingly  did  cheer  me, 

When  I,  what  reck, 

Did  least  expec', 
To  see  my  lad  so  near  me. 

His  bonnet  he, 

A  thought  ajee, 
Cock'd  sprush  when  first  he  clasp'd 
me  ; 

And  I,  I  wat, 

Wi'  fainness  grat, 
While  in  his  grips  he  press'd  me, 


Deil  tak'  the  war  ! 

I  late  and  air, 
Hae  wish'd  since  Jock  departed  j 

But  now  as  glad 

I'm  wi'  my  lad, 
As  short  syne  broken-hearted. 

Fu'  aft  at  e'en 

Wi'  dancing  keen, 
When  a*  were  blythe  and  merry, 

I  car'd  na  by, 

Sae  sad  was  1 
In  absence  o'  my  dearie. 

But,  praise  be  blest, 

My  mind's  at  rest, 
I'm  happy  wi'  my  Johnny : 

At  kirk  and  fair, 

I'se  ay  be  there, 
And  be  as  canty 's  ony, 


266  THE  CARLE  OF  KELLYBURN  BRAES. 

THE  CARLE   OF   KELLYBURN   BRAES. 

Tune—'  Kellybum  braes? 

There  lived  a  carle  on  Kellybum  braes 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme?, 

And  he  had  a  wife  was  the  plague  o'  his  days  ; 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

Ae  day  as  the  carle  gaed  up  the  lang  glen 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme), 

He  met  wi'  the  Devil ;  says,  *  How  do  you  fen?' 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

I've  got  a  bad  wife,  sir ;  that's  a*  my  complaint* 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme), 

*  For,  saving  your  presence,  to  her  ye're  a  saint ;' 

And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

'  It's  neither  your  stot  nor  your  staig  I  shall  crave 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme), 

*  But  gie  me  your  wife,  man,  for  her  I  must  have ; 

And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

'  O  welcome,  most  kindly, '  the  bly the  carle  said 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme), 

*  But  if  ye  can  match  her,  ye're  waur  nor  ye're  ca'd  ; 

And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

The  Devil  has  got  the  auld  wife  on  his  back 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme), 

And,  like  a  poor  pedlar,  he's  carried  his  pack  ; 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

He's  carried  her  hame  to  his  ain  hallan-door 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme), 

Syne  bad  her  gae  in,  for  a  b — h  and  a  w — e ; 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

Then  straight  he  makes  fifty,  the  pick  o'  his  band 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme), 

Turn  out  on  her  guard  in  the  clap  of  a  hand  ; 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

The  carlin  gaed  thro'  them  like  ony  wud  bear 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  with  thyme), 

Whae'er  she  gat  hands  on  came  near  her  nae  mair ; 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

A  reekit  wee  Devil  looks  over  the  wav 

(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme), 

4  Ot  help,  master,  help,  or  she'll  ruin  us  a' ;' 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 


THERE  WAS  A  LASS. 


The  Devil  he  swore  by  the  edge  o*  his  knife 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  with  thyme), 

He  pitied  the  man  that  was  tied  to  a  wife  ; 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

The  Devil  he  swore  by  the  kirk  and  the  bell 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme), 

He  was  not  in  wedlock,  thank  heav'n,  but  in  hell ; 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither' d,  and  rue  is  in  prime 

Then  Satan  has  travell'd  again  wi'  his  pack 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme), 

And  to  her  auld  husband  he's  carried  her  back  J 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither' d,  and  rue  is  in  prune. 

1 1  hae  been  a  Devil  the  feck  o'  my  life  ' 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonie  wi'  thyme), 

*  But  ne'er  was  in  hell,  till  I  met  wi'  a  wife ;  * 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  fe  in  prime. 


THERE   WAS    A    LASS. 

Tune—' Duncan  Davison* 

There  was  a  lass,  they  ca'd  her  Meg, 

And  she  held  o'er  the  moors  to  spin ; 
There  was  a  lad  that  follow'd  her, 

They  ca'd  him  Duncan  Davison. 
The  moor  was  driegh,  and  Meg  was  skiegh, 

•Her  favour  Duncan  could  na  win  ; 
For  wi'  the  rock  she  wad  him  knock, 

And  ay  she  shook  the  temper-pin- 

As  o'er  the  moor  they  lightly  foor, 

A  burn  was  clear,  a  glen  was  green, 
Upon  the  banks  they  eased  their  shanks, 

And  ay  she  set  the  wheel  between  : 
But  Duncan  swore  a  haly  aith, 

That  Meg  should  be  a  bride  the  morn ; 
Then  Meg  took  up  her  spinnin*  graith, 

And  flung  them  a'  out  o'er  the  burn. 

We'll  big  a  house— a  wee,  wee  house, 

And  we  will  live  like  King  and  Queen, 
Sae  blythe  and  merry  we  will  be 

When  ye  set  by  the  wheel  at  e'en. 
A  man  may  drink  and  no  be  drunk  ; 

A  man  may  fight  and  no  be  slain ; 
A  man  may  kiss  a  bonie  lass, 

And  ay  be  welcome  back  again* 


$6> 


268 


THE  CARLES  OF  DYSART. 


THE  WEARY  PUND  O'  TOW. 

Tune—-'  The  weary puna*  o*  tow.' 

The  weary  pund,  the  weary  pund, 

The  weary  pund  o'  tow  ; 
I  think  my  wife  will  end  her  life 

Before  she  spin  her  tow. 
I  bought  my  wife  a  stane  o*  lint 

As  gude  as  e'er  did  grow  ; 
And  a'  that  she  has  made  o'  that, 

Is  ae  poor  pund  o'  tow. 

There  sat  a  bottle  in  a  bole, 

Beyond  the  ingle  low, 
And  ay  she  took  the  tither  souk 

To  drouk  the  stowrie  tow. 

Quoth  I,  For  shame,  ye  dirty  dame, 

Gae  spin  your  tap  o'  tow  ! 
She  took  the  rock,  and  wi'  a  knock 

She  brak  it  o'er  my  pow. 

At  last  her  feet— I  sang  to  see't— 
Gaed  foremost  o'er  the  knowe  ; 
And  or  I  wad  anither  jad, 
I'll  wallop  in  a  tow. 
The  weary  pund,  the  weary  pund, 

The  weary  pund  o'  tow  ! 
I  think  my  wife  will  end  her  life 
Before  she  spin  her  tow. 


THE  PLOUGHMAN. 

Tune—'  Up  wV  the  Ploughman* 

The  ploughman  he's  a  bonie  lad, 

His  mind  is  ever  true,  jo, 
His  garters  knit  J)elow  his  knee, 

His  bonnet  it  is  blue,  jo. 

CHORUS. 

Then  up  wi't  a',  my  ploughman  lad, 
And  hey,  my  merry  ploughman  ; 

Of- a'  the  trades  that  I  do  ken, 
Commend  me  to  the  ploughman. 

My  ploughman  he  comes  hame  at  e'en, 

He's  aften  wat  and  weary  ; 
Cast  off  the  wat,  put  on  the  dry, 

And  gae  to  bed,  my  Dearie  ! 
Up  wi't  a',  &c. 


I  will  wash  my  ploughman's  hose, 
And  I  will  dress  his  o'erlay ; 

I  will  mak  my  ploughman's  bed, 
And  cheer  him  late  and  early. 
Up  wi't  a',  &c. 

I  hae  been  east,  I  hae  been  west, 
I  hae  been  at  Saint  Johnston, 

The  boniest  sight  that  e'er  I  saw 
Was  the  ploughman  laddie  dancin' 
Up  wi't  a*,  &c. 

Snaw-white  stockins  on  his  legs, 
And  siller  buckles  glancin' ; 

A  gude  blue  bannet  on  his  head, 
And  O,  but  he  was  handsome  ! 
Up  wi't  a',  &c. 

Commend  me  to  the  barn-yard, 
And  the  corn-mou',  man ; 

I  never  gat  my  coggie  fou 
Till  I  met  wi'  the  ploughman. 
Up  wi't  a',  &c. 


THE  CARLES  OF  DYSART. 

Tune— 'Hey,  ca'  thro*.' 

Up  wi'  the  carles  of  Dysart, 

And  the  lads  o'  Buckhaven, 
And  the  kimmers  o'  Largo, 
And  the  lasses  o'  Leven. 

Hey,  ca'  thro',  ca'  thro', 

For  we  hae  mickle  ado ; 
Hey,  ca'  thro',  ca'  thro', 
For  we  hae  mickle  ado. 

We  hae  tales  to  tell, 

And  we  hae  sangs  to*  sing  ; 
We  hae  pennies  to  spend, 

And  we  hae  pints  to  bring. 

We'll  live  a'  our  days, 

And  them  that  come  behin', 
Let  them  do  the  like, 

And  spend  the  gear  they  win. 
Hey,  ca'  thro',  ca'  thro', 

For  we  hae  mickle  ado  ; 
Hey,  ca'  thro',  ca'  thro', 
For  we  hae  mickle  ado. 


COCK  UP  YOUR  BEAVER. 


269 


WEARY  FA'  YOU,  DUNCAN 

GRAY. 

Tune—* Duncan  Gray.* 

WEARY  fa'  you,  Duncan  Gray — 

Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o't ! 
Wae  gae  by  you,  Duncan  Gray — 

Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o't  ! 
When  a*  the  lave  gae  to  their  play, 
Then  I  maun  sit  the  lee-lang  day, 
And  jog  the  cradle  wi'  my  tae, 

And  a'  for  the  girdin  o't. 

IBonie  was  the  Lammas  moon— 

Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o't ! 
C*lowrin'  a'  the  hills  aboon — 

Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o't ! 
^The  girdin  brak,  the  beast  cam  down, 
I  tint  my  curch,  and  baith  my  shoon  \ 
Ah  !  Duncan,  ye're  an  unco  loon — 

Wae  on  the  bad  girdin  o't ! 

But,  Duncan,  gin  ye'll  keep  your  aith— 

Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o't ! 
Ise  bless  you  wi'  my  hindmost  breath— 

Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o't ! 
Duncan,  gin  ye'll  keep  your  aith, 
The  beast  again  can  bear  us  baith, 
And  auld   Mess  John  will  mend  the 
skaith, 

And  clout  the  bad  girdin  o't. 


MY  HOGGIE.* 
Tons—'  What  will  I  do  gin  my  Hoggie  die?* 

WHAT  will  I  do  gin  my  Hoggie  die  ? 

My  joy,  my  pride,  my  Hoggie  ! 
My  only  beast,  I  had  na  mae, 

And  vow  but  I  was  vogie  ! 

The  lee-lang  night    we   watch'd    the 
fauld, 

Me  and  my  faith fu'  doggie  ; 
We  heard  nought  but  the  roaring  linn, 

Amang  the  braes  sae  scroggie ; 

But  the  howlet  cry'd  frae  the  castle  wa', 

The  blitter  frae  the  boggie, 
The  tod  reply'd  upon  the  hill, 

i  trembled  for  my  Hoggie, 


When  day  did  daw,  and  cocks  did  craw, 
The  morning  it  was  foggie ; 

An'  unco  tyke  lap  o'er  the  dyke, 
And  maist  has  kill'd  my  Hoggie. 

WHERE  HAE  YE  BEEN. 
Tune—*  Killiecrankie* 

Whare  hae  ye  been  sae  braw,  lad  ? 

Where  hae  ye  been  sae  brankie,  O  ? 
O,  whare  hae  ye  been  sae  braw,  lad  ? 

Cam  ye  by  Killiecrankie,  O  ; 
An'  ye  had  been  whare  I  hae  been, 

Ye  wad  na  been  so  cantie,  O  ; 
An'  ye  had  seen  what  I  had  seen, 

On  the  braes  o'  Killiecrankie,  O. 

I  fought  at.  land,  I  fought  at  sea ; 

At  hame  I  fought  my  auntie,  O  ; 
But  I  met  the  Devil  an' .Dundee, 

On  the  braes  o'  Killiecrankie,  O* 
The  bauld  Pitcur  fell  in  a  furr, . 

An'  Clavers  got  a  clankie,  O ; 
Or  I  had  fed  an  Athble  gled, 

On  the  braes  o'  Killiecrankie,  O. 

COCK  UP  YOUR  BEAVER. 

Tune—'  Cock  up  your  beaver? 

When  first  my  brave  Johnnie  lad 

Came  to  this  town, 
He  had  a  blue  bonnet 

That  wanted  the  crown ; 
But  now  he  has  gotten 

A  hat  and  a  feather, — 
Hey,  brave  Johnnie  lad, 

Cock  up  your  beaver  I 

Cock  up  your  beaver, 

And  cock  it  fu*  sprush, 
We'll  over  the  border 

And  gie  them  a  brush  ; 
There's  somebody  there 

We'll  teach  better  behaviour— 
Hey,  brave  Johnnie  lad, 

Cock  up  your  beaver  I 

THE  HERON  BALLADS, 

FIRST  BALLAD. 

Whom  will  you  send  to  London  town, 
To  Parliament  and  a'  that  ? 

Or  wha  in  a'  the  country  round 
The  best  deserves  to  fa'  that  ? 


210 


THE  ELECTION. 


For  a'  that,  an*  a'  that, 
Thro*  Galloway  and  a'  that ! 
Where   is  the   laird   or  belted 

knight 
That  best  deserves  to  fa'  that  ? 

Wha  sees  Kerroughtree's  open  yett, 

And  wha  is't  never  saw  that  ? 
Wha  ever  wi'  Kerroughtree  meets 
And  has  a  doubt  of  a'  that? 
For  a'  that,  an'  a*  that, 
Here's  Heron  yet  for  a'  that ! 
The  independent  patriot, 
The  honest  man,  an'  a'  that. 

Tho'  wit  and  worth'in  either  sex, 
St.  Mary's  Isle  can  shaw  that ; 
Wi'  dukes  an'  lords  let  Selkirk  mix, 
And  weel  does  Selkirk  fa'  that. 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 
Here's  Heron  yet  for  a'  that ! 
The  independent  commoner 
Shall  be  the  man  for  a'  that. 

But  why  should  we  to  nobles  jouk, 

And  is't  against  the  law  that  ? 
For  why,  a  lord  may  be  a  gouk, 
Wi'  ribbon,  star,  an'  a*  that. 
For  a*  that,  an'  a*  that, 
Here's  Heron  yet  for  a'  that  I 
A  lord  may  be  a  lousy  loun, 
Wi'  ribbon,  star,  an'  a'  that. 

A  beardless  boy  comes  o'er  the  hills, 

Wi'  uncle's  purse  an'  a'  that ; 
But  we'll  hae  ane  frae  'mang  oursels, 
A  man  we  ken,  an'  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 
Here's  Heron  yet  for  a'  that ! 
For  we're  not  to  be  bought  an* 

sold 
Like  naigs,  an'  nowt,  an'  a'  that. 

Then  let  us  drink  the  Stewartry, 

Kerroughtree's  laird,  an*  a'  that, 
Our  representative  to  be, 
For  weel  he's  worthy  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 
Here's  Heron  yet  for  a'  that  1 
A  House  of  Commons  such  as 

he, 
They  would  be  blest  that  saw 
that 


THE  ELECTION. 

SECOND  BALLAD. 

Fy,  let  lis  a'  to  Kirkcudbright, 

For  there  will  be  bickerin'  there  ; 
For  Murray's  light-horse  are  to  muster, 

And  O.  how  the  heroes  will  swear ! 
An'  there  will  be  Murray  commander, 

And  Gordon  the  battle  to  win ; 
Like   brothers  they'll  stand  by  each 
other, 

Sae  knit  in  alliance  an'  kin. 

An'  there  will  be  black-lippit  Johnnie, 

The  tongue  o'  the  trump  to  them  a' ; 
An'  he  get  na  hell  for  his  haddin' 

The  Deil  gets  na  justice  ava' ; 
An'  there  will  be  Kempleton's  birkie, 

A  boy  no  sae  black  at  the  bane, 
But,  as  for  his  fine  nabob  fortune, 

We'll  e'en  let  the  subject  alane. 

An'  there  will  be  Wigton's  new  sheriff, 

Dame  Justice  fu'  brawlie  has  sped, 
She's  gotten  the  heart  of  a  Bushby, 

But,  Lord,  what 's  become  o'  the  head  ? 
An'  there  will  be  Cardoness,  Esquire, 

Sae  mighty  in  Cardoness'  eyes  ; 
A  wight  that  will  weather  damnation, 

For  the  Devil  the  prey  will  despise. 

An'  there  will  be  Douglasses  doughty, 

New  christ'ning  towns  far  and  near ! 
Abjuring  their  democrat  doings, 

By  kissing  the  —  o'  a  peer  \ 
An'  there  will  be  Kenmure  sae  gen'rous 

Whose  honour  is  proof  to  the  storm, 
To  save  them  from  stark  reprobation 

He  lent  them  his  name  to  the  firm. 

But  we  winna  mention  Redcastle, 

The  body  e'en  let  him  escape  ! 
He'd  venture  the  gallows  for  siller, 

An'  'twere  na  the  cost  o'  the  rape. 
An'  where  is  our  King's  lord  lieutenant, 

Sae  fam'd  for  his  gratefu'  return  ? 
The  billie  is  gettin'  his  questions, 

To  say  in  St.  Stephen's  the  morn. 

An'  there  will  be  lads  o'  the  gospel, 
Muirhead  wha's  as  good  as  he  s  true; 

An'  there  will  be  Buittle's  apostle, 
Wha*s  more  o4the  black  than  the  blue; 


AN  EXCELLENT  NEW  SONG. 


271 


An*  there  will  be  folk  from  St.  Mary's, 
A  house  o*  great  merit  and  note, 

The  deil  ane  but  honours  them  highly, — 
The  deil  ane  will  gie  them  his  vote  ! 

An*  there  will  be  wealthy  young  Richard, 

Dame  Fortune  should  hing  by  the 
neck; 
For  prodigal,  thriftless  bestowing — 

His  merit  had  won  him  respect : 
An'  there  will  be  rich  brother  nabobs, 

Though  nabobs,  yet  men  of  the  first  j 
An'  there  will  be  Collieston's  whiskers, 

An'  Quintin,  o'  lads  not  the  worst. 

An7  there  will  be  stamp-office  Johnnie, 

Tak  lent  how  ye  purchase  a  dram ; 
An*  there  will  be  gay  Cassencarrie, 

An'  there  will  be  gleg  Colonel  Tarn ; 
An'  there  will  be  trusty  Kerroughtree, 

Whose  honour  was  ever  his  law, 
If  the  virtues  were  pack'd  in  a  parcel) 

His  worth  might  be  sample  for  a*. 

An*  can  we  forget  the  auld  major, 

Wha'll  ne'er  be  forgot  in  the  Greys  ; 
Our  flatt'ry  we'll  keep  for  some  other, 

Him  only  'tis  justice  to  praise. 
An'  there  will  be  maiden  Kilkerran, 

And  also  Barskimming's  gude  knight ; 
An'  there  will  be  roarin'  Birtwhistle, 

Wha,  luckily,  roars  in  the  right. 

An'  there,  fraethe  Niddisdale's  borders, 

Will  mingle  the  Maxwells  in  droves  ; 
Teugh  Johnnie,  staunch  Geordie,  an' 
Walie, 

That  griens  for  the  fishes  an'  loaves  ; 
An'  there  will  be  Logan  MacDowall, 

Sculdudd'ry  an'  he  will  be  there, 
An'  also  the  wild  Scot  o'  Galloway, 

Sodgerin',  gunpowder  Blair. 

Then    hey    the    chaste    interest    o* 
Broughton, 

An'  hey  for  the  blessings  'twill  bring '! 
It  may  send  Balrnaghie  to  the  Commons, 

In  Sodom 'twould  make  him  a  King'; 
An*  hey  for  the  sanctified  Murray, 

Our  land  who  wi'  chapels  has  stor'd  ; 
He  founder'd  his  horse  among  harlots. 

But  gied  the  auld  naig  to  the  Lord. 


AN  EXCELLENT  NEW  SONG. 

THIRD  BALLAD.     (MAY  1/96.) 

Wha  will  buy  my  troggin; 

Fine  election  ware ; 
Broken  trade  o*  Broughton, 
A1  in  high  repair. 
Buy  braw  troggin, 

Frae  the  banks  o'  Dee ' 
Wha  wants  troggin 
Let  him  come  to  me 

There's  a  noble  Earl's 

Fame  and  high  renown, 
For  an  auld  sang— 

It's  thought  the  gudes  were  stown. 
Buy  braw  troggin,  &a 

Here's  the  worth  o'  Broughton 

In  a  needle's  ee ; 
Here's  a  reputation 

Tint  by  Balrnaghie. 

Buy  braw  troggin,  &c. 

Here's  an  honest  conscience 

Might  a  prince  adorn  ; 
Frae  the  downs  o'  Tinwald— 

So  was  never -worn. 

Buy  braw  troggin,  &c. 

Here's  its  stuff  and  lining, 

Cardoness'  head ; 
Fine  for  a  sodger 

A'  the,  wale  o*  lead. 

Buy  braw  troggin,  &c. 

Here's  a  little  wadset 

Buittles  scrap  o*  truth, 
Pawn'd  in  a  gin-shop 

Quenching  holy  drouth. 
Buy  braw  troggin,  &C. 

Here's  armorial  bearings 

Frae  the  manse  o*  Urr ; 
The  crest,  an  auld  crab-apple 

Rotten  at  the  core. 

Buy  braw  troggin,  &c 

Here  is  Satan's  picture, 

Like  a  bizzard  gled, 
Pouncing  poor  Redcastle 

Sprawlin'  as  a  taed. 

Buy  braw  troggin,  &c 


272 


JOHN  BUSHBY'S  L AMENTA  TION. 


Here's  the  worth  and  wisdom 
Collieston  can  boast ; 

By  a  thievish  midge 
They  had  been  nearly  lost. 
Buy  braw  troggin,  &c. 

Here  is  Murray's  fragments 
O'  the  ten  commands ; 

Gifted  by  black  Jock 

To  get  them  aff  his  hands. 
Buy  braw  troggin,  &c. 

Saw  ye  e'er  sic  troggin  ? 

If  to  buy  ye're  slack, 
Hornie's  turnin'  chapman, — 

He'll  buy  a'  the  pack. 

Buy  braw  troggin,  &c. 


JOHN  BUSHBY'S 
LAMENTATION. 

Tune—'  T/te  Babes  in  the  Weed. 

'TWAS  in  the  seventeen  hunder  year 

O'  grace  and  ninety-five, 
That  year  I  was  the  wae'est  man 

O'  ony  man  alive. 

In  March  the  three-and-twentieth  morn, 
The  sun  raise  clear  and  bright ; 

But  oh  I  was  a  waefu'  man 
Ere.to-fa'  o'  the  night. 

Verl  Galloway  lang  did  rule  this  land, 

Wi'  equal  right  and  fame, 
And  thereto  was -his  kinsman  join'd 

The  Murray's  noble  name. 

Yerl  Galloway  lang  did  rule  the  land, 
Made  me  the  judge  o'  strife  ; 

But  now  Yerl  Galloway's  sceptre 's  broke, 
And  eke  my  hangman's  knife. 

'Twas  by  the  banks  o'  bonie  Cree, 
Beside  Kirkcudbright's  towers, 

The  Stewart  and  the  Murray  there 
Did  muster  a'  their  powers. 

The  Murray,  on  the  auld  gray  yaud, 

\Vi'  winged  spurs  did  ride, 
That  auld  gray  yaud,  yea,  Nidsdale  rade, 

He  staw  upon  Nidside. 


An'  there  had  na  been  the  yerl  himseV, 
O  there  had  been  nae  play  ; 

But  Garlies  was  to  London  gane, 
And  sae  the  kye  might  stray. 

•And  there  was  Balmaghie,  I  ween, 
In  front  rank  he  wad  shine ; 

But  Balmaghie  had  better  been 
Drinking  Madeira  wine. 

Frae  the  Glenkens  came  to  our  aid, 

A  chief  o'  doughty  deed ; 
In  case  that  worth  should  wanted  be, 

O'  Kenmure  we  had  need. 

And  by  our  banners  march'd  Muirhead, 

And  Buittle  was  na  slack ; 
Whase  haly  priesthood  nane  can  stain, 

For  wha  can  dye  the  black  ? 

And  there  sae  grave  Squire  Cardoness, 
Look'd  on  till  a'  was  done  ; 

Sae,  in  the  tower  o'  Cardoness, 
A  howlet  sits  at  noon. 

And  there  led  I  the  Bushby  clan, 

My  gamesome  billie  Will ; 
And  my  son  Maitland,  wise  as  brave, 

My  footsteps  follow'd  still. 

The  Douglas  and  the  Heron's  name 
We  set  nought  to  their  score ; 

The  Douglas  and  the  Heron's  name 
Had  felt  our  weight  before.. 

But  Douglasses  o'  weight  had  we, 

The  pair  o'  lusty  lairds, 
For  building  cot-houses  sae  famed, 

And  christening  kail-yards. 

And  there  Redcastle  drew  his  sword, 
That  ne'er  was  stained  wi'  gore, 

Save  on  a  wanderer  lame  and  blind, 
To  drive  him  frae  his  door. 

And  last  came  creeping  Collieston, 
Was  mair  in  fear  than  wrath ; 

Ae  knave  was  constant  in  his  mind, 
To  keep  that  knave  frae  scaith. 


YE  J  A  CO  BITES  B  Y  NAME.  2  73 


YE  SONS  OF  OLD  KILLIE. 

Tvnz-~f  SAawu&ey.* 

Ye  sons  of  old  Killie,  assembled  by  Willie, 

To  follow  the  noble  vocation  ; 
Your  thrifty  old  mother  has  scarce  such  another 

To  sit  in  that  honour  d  station. 
I've  little  to  say,  but  only  to  pray, 

As  praying's  the  ton  of  your  fashion; 
A  prayer  frou.  the  Muse  you  well  may  excuse, 

*Tis  seldom  her  favourite  passion. 

Ye  powers  who  preside  o'er  the  wind  and  the  tide, 

,  Who  marked  each  element's  border ; 
Who  formed  this  frame  with  beneficent  aim* 

Whose  sovereign  statute  is  order ; 
Within  this  dear  mansion  may  wayward  contention 

Or  withered  envy  ne'er,  enter ; 
May  secrecy  round  be  the  mystical  bound, 

And  brotherly  love  be  the  centre  I 

YE  JACOBITES  BY  NAME. 

Tuns— '  Ye  Jacobites  by  name* 

Ye  Jacobites  by  name,  give  an  ear,  give  an  ear ; 
Ye  Jacobites  by  name,  give  an  ear ; 
Ye  Jacobites  by  name, 

Your  fautes  I  will  proclaim, 
Your  doctrines  I  maun  blame — 
You  shall  hear. 

What  is  right  and  what  is  wrang,  by  the  law,  by  the  law  ? 
What  is  right  and  what  is  wrang  by  the  law? 
What  is  right  and  what  is  wrang  ? 
A  short  sword  and  a  lang, 
A  weak  arm,  and  a  Strang 
For  to  draw. 

What  makes  heroic  strife,  fam'd  afar,  fam'd  afar, 
What  makes,  heroic  strife  fam'd  afar? 
What  makes  heroic  strife  ? 
To  whet  th'  assassin's  knife, 
Or  hunt  a  parent's  life 
Wv  bluidie  war. 

Then  let  your  schemes  alone,  in  the  state,  in  the  state ; 
Then  let  your  schemes  alone  in  the  state ; 
Then'let  your  schemes  alone, 
Adore  the  rising  sun, 
And  leave  a  man  undone 
To  his  fate. 


274 


THE  COLLIER  LADDIE. 


SONG— AH,  CHLORIS. 

Tune— 'Major  Graham* 

Ah,  Chloris,  since  it  may  ha  be, 
That  thou  of  love  wilt  hear  ; 

If  from  the  lover  thou  maun  flee, 
Yet  let  the  friend  be  dear. 

Altho'  I  love  my  Chloris  mair 
Than  ever  tongue  could  tell ; 

My  passion  I  will  ne'er  declare, 
I'll  say,  I  wish  thee  well : 

Tho'  a*  my  daily  care  thou  art, 
And  a*  my  nightly  dream, 

I'll  hide  the  struggle  in  my  heart, 
And  say  it  is  esteem. 


WHAN  I  SLEEP  I  DREAM. 

Whan  I  sleep  I  dream, 

Whan  I  wauk  I'm  eerie, 
Sleep  I  canna  get, 

For  thinkin*  o*  my  dearie. 

Lanely  night  comes  on, 

A*  the  house  are  sleeping, 
I  think  on  the  bonie  lad 
That  has  my  heart  a  keeping. 

Ay  waukin   O,   waukin   ay   and 

wearie, 
Sleep  I  canna  get,  for  thinkin*  o' 
my  dearie. 

Lanely  night  comes  on, 

A'  the  house  are  sleeping, 
I  think  on  my  bonie  lad, 

An'  I  bleer  my  een  wi'  greetin' ! 
Ay  waukin,  &c. 


KATHARINE  JAFFRAY, 

There  liv'd  a  lass  in  yonder  dale, 
And  down  in  yonder  glen,  O  ; 

And  Katharine  Jaffray  was  her  name, 
Weel  known  to  many  men,  O. 

Out  came  the  Lord  of  Lauderdale 
Out  frae  the  south  countrie,  O, 

AH  for  to  court  this  pretty  maid, 
Her  bridegroom  for  to  be,  O. 


He's  tell'd  her  father  and  mother  baith, 

As  I  hear  sindry  say,  O  ; 
But  he  has  na  tell'd  the  lass  hersel' 

Till  on  her  wedding  day,  O. 

Then  came  the  Laird  o'  Lochinton 
Out  frae  the  English  border, 

All  for  to  court  this  pretty  maid, 
All  mounted  in  good  order. 

THE  COLLIER  LADDIE. 

O  WHare  live  ye  my  bonie  lass, 
And  tell  me  how  they  ca'  ye  ? 

My  name,  she  says,  is  Mistress  Jean, 
And  I  follow  my  Collier  laddie. 

0  see  ye  not  yon  hills  and  dales 
The  sun  shines  on  sae  brawly  : 

They  a*  are  mine,  and  they  shall  be  thine, 
If  ye'll  leave  your  Collier  laddie. 

And  ye  shall  gang  in  rich  attire, 

Weel  buskit  up  fV  gaudy , 
And  ane  to  wait  at  every  hand, 

If  ye'll  leave  your  Collier  laddie. 

Tho'  ye  had  a'  the  sun  shines  on, 
And  the  earth  conceals  sae  lowly  ; 

1  would  turn  my  back  on  you  and  it  a , 
Andf  embrace  my  Collier  laddie. 

I  can  win  my  five  pennies  in  a  day, 
And  spend  it  at  night  full  brawlie ; 

I  can  mak  my  bed  in  the  Collier's  neuk, 
And  lie  down  wi'  my  Collier  laddie. 

Loove  for  loove  is  the  bargain  for  me, 
Tho'  the  wee  cot-house  should  haud 
me ;  [bread, 

And  the  warld  before  me  to  win  my 
And  fare  fa*  my  Collier  laddie. 

WHEN  I  THINK  ON  THE 
HAPPY  DAYS. 

When  I  think  on  the  happy  days 
I  spent  wi'  you,  my  dearie ; 

And  now  "what  lands  between  us  lie, 
How  can  I  be  but  eerie ! 

How  slow  ye  move,  ye  heavy  hours, 
As  ye  were  wae  and  weary  ! 

It  was  na  sae  ye  glinted  by 
When  I  was  wi'  my  dearie. 


WAR  IS  MY  HEART. 


*75 


YOUNG  JAMIE,  PRIDE  OF  A' 
THE  PLAIN. 

Tuns—*  The  Carlin  o'  the  Glen: 

Young  Jamie,  pride  of  a'  the  plain, 
Sae  gallant  and  sae  gay  a  swain  ; 
Tho'  a'  our  lasses  he  did  rove, 
And  reign'd  resistless  King  of  Love  : 
But  now  wi'  sighs  and  starting  tears, 
He  strays  amang  the  "woods  and  briers; 


Or  in  the  glens  and  rocky  caves 
His  sad  complaining  dowie  raves  : 

I  wha  sae  late  did  range  and  rove, 
And  changed  with  every  moon  my  love, 
I  little  thought  the  time. was  near, 
Repentance  I  should  buy  sae  dear  ; 
The  slighted  maids  my  torment  see. 
And  laugh  at  a'  th*»  pangs  I  dree  ; 
While  she,  my  cruel,  scornfu'  fair, 
Forbids  me  e'er  to  see  her  niair ! 


THE  HEATHER  WAS  BLOOMING. 

The  heather  was  blooming,  the  meadows  were  rhawn, 
Our  lads  gaed  a  hunting,  ae  day  at  the  dawn, 
O'er  moors  and  o'er  mosses  and  monie  a  glen, 
At  length  they  discovered  a  bonie  moor-hen. 

I  red  you  beware  at  the  hunting,  young  men  ; 

I  red  you  beware  at  the  hunting,  young  men  ; 

Tak  some  on  the  wing,  and  some  as  they  spring, 

But  cattnily  steal  on  a  bonie  moor-hen. 

Sweet  brushing  the  dew  from  the  brown  heather  bells, 
Her  colours  betray'd  her  on  yon  mossy  fells ; 
Her  plumage  outlustred  the  pride  o'  the  spring, 
And  O  !  as  she  wanton'd  gay  on  the  wing. 
I  red,  &c. 

Auld  Phoebus  himsel,  as  he  peep'd  o'er  the  hill, 
In  spite  at  her  plumage  he  tried  his  skill : 
He  levell'd  his  rays  where  she  bask'd  on  the  brae — i 
His  rays  were  outshone,  and  but  mark'd  where.she  lay. 
Ircd,  &c. 

They  hunted  the  valley,  they  hunted  the  hill, 
The  best  of  our  lads  wi'  the  best  o'  their  skill ; 
But  still  as  the  fairest  she  sat  in  their  sight, 
Then,  whirr  !  she  was  over,  a  mile  at  a  flight. 
I  red,  &c. 


WAE  IS  MY  HEART. 

Wae  is  my  heart,  and  the  tear's  in  my  ee  ; 
Lang,  lang,  joy's  been  a  stranger  to  me  : 
Forsaken  and  friendless  my  burden  I  bear, 
And  the  sweet  voice  o'  pity  ne'er  sounds  in  my  ear. 

Love,  thou  hast  pleasures  ;  and  deep  hae  I  loved  ; 
Love,  thou  hast  sorrows  ;  and  sair  hae  I  proved  : 
But  this  bruised  heart  that  now  bleeds  in  my  breast, 
I  can  feel  its  throbbings  will  soon  be  at  rest. 

O  if  I  were  where  happy  I  hae  been ; 
Down  by  yon  stream  and  yon  bonie  castle  green  :• 
For  there  he  is  wand'ring  and  musing  on  me, 
Wha  wad  soon  dry  the  tear  frae  Phillis's  ee. 


27$ 


GUDEEN  TO  YOU,  KIMMER. 


EPPIE  M'NAB. 

O  SAW  ye  my  dearie,  my  Eppie  M  'Nab  ? 
O  saw  ye  my  dearie,  my  Eppie  M'Nab? 
She's  down  in  the  yard,  she's  kissin'  the  laird, 
She  vvinna  come  hame  to  her  ain  Jock  Rab. 
O  come  thy  ways  to  me,  my  Eppie  M'Nab  I 
O  come  thy  ways  to  me,  my  Eppie  M'Nab  ! 
Whate'er  thou  has  done,  be  it  late,  be  it  soon, 
Thou's  welcome  again  to  thy  ain  Jock  Rab. 

What  says  she,  my  dearie,  my  Eppie  M  'Nab  ? 
What  says  she,  my  dearie,  my  Eppie  M  'Nab  ? 
She  lets  thee  to  wit,  that  she  has  thee  forgot, 
And  for  ever  disowns  thee,  her  ain  Jock  Rab. 
O  had  I  ne'er  seen  thee,  my  Eppie  M  'Nab  ! 
O  had  I  ne'er  seen  thee,  my  Eppie  M'Nab! 
As  light  as  the  air,  and  fause  as  thou 's  fair, 
Thou's  broken  the  heart  o'  thy  ain  Jock  Rab. 


AN,  O!  MY  EPPIE. 

An'  O  !  my  Eppie, 
My  jewel,  my  Eppie  ! 
Wha  wadna  be  happy 

Wi'  Eppie  Adair  ? 
By  love,  and  by  beauty, 
By  law,  and  by  duty, 
I  swear  to  be  true  to 

My  Eppie  Aqlair ! 

An*  O  !  my  Eppie, 
My  jewel,  my  Eppie  ! 
Wha  wadna  be  happy 

Wi'  Eppie  Adair  ? 
A*  pleasure  exile  me, 
Dishonour  defile  me, 
If  e'er  I  beguile  thee, 

My  Eppie  Adair  I 


GUDEEN  TO  YOU,  KIMMER. 

Gudeen  to  you,  Kimmer, 

And  how  do  ye  do  ? 
Hiccup,  quo*  Kimmer, 
The  better  that  I'm  fou. 
We're  a*  noddin,  nid  nid  noddin, 
We're  a*  noddin  at  our  house  at 
hame. 


Kate  sits  i'  the  neuk, 
Suppin'  hen  broo ; 

Deil  tak  Kate 
An'  she  be  a  noddin  too 1 
We're  a'  noddin,  &c 

How's  a'  wi'  you,  Kimmer, 
And  how  do  ye  fare  ? 

A  pint  o'  the  best  o't, 
And  twa  pints  mair. 
We're  a'  noddin,  &c 

How's  a'  wi'  you,  Kimmer, 
And  how  do  ye  thrive ; 

How  mony  bairns  hae  ye  ? 
Quo'  Kimmer,  I  hae  five. 
We're  a'  noddin,  &c. 

Are  they  a*  Johny's  ? 

Eh  !  atweel  no  : 
Twa  o'  them  were  gotten 

When  Johny  was  awa. 
We're  a*  noddin,  &c 

Cats  like  milk, 

And  dogs  like  broo ; 
Lads  like  lasses  weel, 

And  lasses  lads  too. 
We're  a'  noddin,  &c. 


THE  LADDIES  BY  THE  BANKS  0'  NITH 


277 


O  THAT  I  HAD  NE'ER  BEEN 
MARRIED. 

0  that  I  had  ne'er  been  married, 

I  wad  never  had  nae  care ; 
Now  I've  gotten  wife  and  bairns, 
An*  they  cry  crowdie  ever  mair. 
Ance  crowdie,  twice  crowdie, 

Three  times  crowdie  in  a  day  ; 
Gin  ye  crowdie  ony  mair, 
Ye'U  crowdie  a'  my  meal  away. 

Waefu  want  and  hunger  flev  me, 
Glowrin  by  the  hallen  en  ; 

Sair  I  fecht  them  at  the  door, 
But  ay  I'm  eerie  they  come  bsn. 
Ance  crowdie,  &c. 

THERE'S  NEWS,  LASSES. 

There's  news,  lasses,  news, 

Gude  news  I've  to  tell, 
There's  a  boat  fu'  o'  lads 
Come  to  our  town  to  sell. 
Tlje  wean  wants  a  cradle, 

An'  the  cradle  wants  a  cod, 
An'  I'll  no  gang  to  my  bed 
Until  I  get  a  nod. 

Father,  quo*  she,  Mither,  quo'  she, 

Do  what  ye  can, 
I'll  no  gang  to  my  bed 

Till  I  get  a  man. 
The  wean,  &c. 

I  hae  as  gude  a  craft  rig 
As  made  o'  yird  and  stane ; 

And  waly  fu'  the  ley -crap 
For  I  maim  till'd  again. 
The  wean,  &c. 

SCROGGAM. 

There  was  a  wife  wonn'd  in  Cockpen, 

Scroggam  ; 
She  brew'd  gude  aie  for  gentlemen, 
Sing  auld  Cowl,  lay  you  down  by  me, 
Scroggam,  my  dearie,  ruffum. 

The  gudewife's  dochter  fell  in  a  fever, 

Scroggam; 
The  priest  o'  the  parish  fell  in  anither, 
Sing  auld  Cowl,  lay  you  down  by  me, 
Scroggam,  my  dearie,  ruffum. 


They  laid  the  twa  i'  the  bed  thegither, 

Scroggam; 
That  the  heat  o'  the  tane  might  cool 

the  tither, 
Sing  auld  Cowl,  lay  you  down  by  me, 
Scroggam,  my  dearie,  ruffum. 

FRAE  THE  FRIENDS  AND 
LAND  I  LOVE. 

Frae  the  friends  and  land  I  love, 

Driven  by  Fortune's  felly  spite, 
Frae  my  best  belov'd  I  rove, 

Never  mair  to  taste  delight ; 
Never  mair  maun  hope  to  find 

Ease  frae  toil,  relief  frae  care  : 
When  remembrance  wrecks  the  mind, 

Pleasures  but  unveil  despair. 

Brightest  climes  shall  mirk  appear, 

Desart  ilka  blooming  shore, 
Till  the  Fates,  nae  mair  severe, 

Friendship,  love,  and  peace  restore  ; 
Till  revenge,  v/i'  laurell  a  head, 

Bring  our  banish'd  hame  again  ; 
And  ilka  loyal,  bonie  lad 

Cross  the  seas  and  win  his  ain. 

THE  LADDIES  BY  THE  BANKS 
O'  NITH. 

ELECTION   BALLAD,    1789. 

Tune — '  Up  and  waur  them  a*.' 
THE^laddies  by  the  banks  o'  Nith 

Wad  trust  his  Grace  wi'  a',  Jamie, 
But  he'll  sair  them  as  he  sairM  the  king- 
Turn  tail  and  rin  awa,  Jamie. 

Up  and  waur  them  a',  Jamie, 

Up  and  waur  them  a' ; 
The  Johnstons  hae  theguidin'  o't, 
Ye  turncoat  Whigs,  awa. 

The  day  he  stude  his  country's  friend, 
Or  gied  her  faes  a  claw,  Jamie, 

Or  frae  puir  man  a  blessin'  wan, 
That  day  the  duke  ne'er  saw,  Jamie. 

But  wha  is  he,  his  country's  boast  ? 

Like  him  there  is  na  twa,  Jamie  ; 
There's  ho  a  callant  tents  the  kye, 

But  kens  o'  Westerha',  Jamie. 

To  end  the  wark,  here's  Whistlebirk, 
Lang  may  his  whistle  blaw,  Jamie ; 

And  Maxwell  true  o'  sterling  blue, 
And  we'll  be  Johnstons  a.\  Jamie. 


278 


SONG. 


THE  BONIE  LASS  OF 
ALBANY. 

TUNE—'  Mary's  dream* 

My  heart  is  wae,  and  unco  wae, 
To  think  upon  the  raging  sea, 

That  roars  between  her  gardens  green 
And  the  bonie  Lass  of  Albany. 

This  lovely  maid's  of  royal  blood 
That  ruled  Albion's  kingdoms  three, 

But  oh,  alas,  for  her  bonie  face, 
Theyhae  wrang'd  the  Lass  of  Albany. 

In  the  rolling  tide  of  spreading  Clyde 
There  sits  an  isle  of  high  degree, 

And  a  town  of  fame  whose  princely 
name 
Should  grace  the  Lass  of  Albany. 

But  there's  a  youth,  a  witless  youth, 
That  fills  the  place  where  she  should 
be; 

We'll  send  him  o*er  to  his  native  shore, 
And  bring  our  ain  sweet  Albany. 

Alas  the  day,  and  wo  the  day, 
A  false  usurper  wan  the  gree, 

Who  now  commands  the  towers  and 
lands — 
The  royal  right  of  Albany, 

We'll  daily  pray,  we'll  nightly  pray, 
On  bended  knees  most  ferventlie, 

The  time  may  come,  with  pipe  and 
dntm 
We'll  welcome  hame  fair  Albany. 


SONG, 

Tune---'  Maggy  Lauder.* 

When  first  I  saw  fair  Jeanie's  face, 

I  couldna  tell  what  ailed  me, 
My  heart  went  fluttering  pit-a-pat, 

My  een  they  almost  failed  me. 
She's  aye  sue  neat,  sae  trim,  sae  tight, 

All  grace  does  round  her  hover, 
Ae  look  deprived  me  o'  my  heart, 

And  I  became  a  lover. 
She's  aye,  aye  sae  blythe,  sae  gay, 

She's  aye  so  blythe  and  cheerie  ; 
She's  aye  sae  bonie,  blythe,  and  gay, 

O  gin  I  were  her  dearie  i 

Had  I  Dundas's  whole  estate, 

Or  Hopetoun's  wealth  to  shine  in  j 
Did  warlike  laurels  crown  my  brow, 

Or  humbler  bays  entwining — 
I'd  lay  tli em  a'  at  Jeanie's  feet, 

Could  I  but  hope  to  move  her, 
And  prouder  than  a  belted  knight, 

I'd  be  my  Jeanie's  lover. 
She's    aye,    aye    sae  blythe,   sae 
gay,  &c. 

But  sair  I  fear  some  happier  swain 

Has  gained  sweet  Jeanie's  favour : 
If  so,  may  every  bliss  be  hers, 

Though  I  maun  never  have  her  r 
But  gang  she  .east;  or  gang  she  west, 

'Twixt  Forth  and  Tweed  all  over, 
While  men  have  eyes,  or  ears,  or  taste, 

She'll  always  find  a  lover. 
She's   aye,    aye    sae  blythe,   sae 
gay,  &c. 


APPENDIX. 

The  following  Elegy,  Extempore  Verses  to  Gavin  Hamilton,  and  Ver sides  on  Sigti- 
posts,  now  fof  the  first  time  published,  are  extracted,  it  is  supposed,  from  the  copy 
of  his  Common-place  Book  which  Burns  presented  to  Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop. 
.The  copy,  after  having  been  in  the  hands  of  several  persons,  and  at  each  remove 
denuded  of  certain  pages,  came  into  the  possession  of  Mr.  Stillie,  bookseller, 
Princes  Street,  Edinburgh,  some  years  since,  and  is.  now  the  property  of  Mr. 
Macmillan.  Besides  the  following  poems,  it  contains  two  stanzas  never  before 
published  of  the  Epitaph  on  Robert  Fergnsson,  versions  of  There  was  a  Lad  was  born 
in  Kyle,  and  Gordon  Castle,  differing  in  some  respects  from  those  commonly 
printed  ;  all  of  which  have  been  embodied  in  the  notes  to  the  present  edition.  In 
the  Common-place  book,  the  Elegy  is  thus  introduced: — "The  following  poem  is 
the  work  of  some  hapless  unknown  son  of  the  Muses,  who  deserved  a  better  fate. 
There  is  a  great  deal  of  'The  Voice  of  Cona,'  in  his  solitary  mournful  notes  ;  and 
had  the  sentiments  been  clothed  in  Shenstone's  language,  they  would  have  been  no 
discredit  even  to  that  elegant  poet."  Burns,  it  will  be  seen,  does  not  claim  the 
authorship,  and,  from  internal  evidence,  the  Editor  is  of  opinion  that  it  was  not 
Written  by  him.  Still,  the  Elegy,  so  far  at  least  as  the  Editor  is  aware,  exists  no- 
where else  ;  and  if  Burns  did  not  actually  compose  it,  he  at  least  thought  it  worthy 
of  being  copied  with  his  own  hand  into  a  book  devoted  almost  exclusively  to  his 
own  compositions.  Even  if  it  were  certain  that  Burns  was  not  the  author,  still, 
the  knowledge  that  he  admired  it,  and  that  through  his  agency  it  alone  exists,  is 
considered  sufficient  excuse  for  its  admission  here.  The  Extempore  Verses  to  Gavin 
Hamilton  are  as  certainly  Burns's  as  is  Death  and  Dr.  Hornbook,  or  the  Address  to 
the  J9eil.  The  dialect,  the  turn  of  phrase,  the  glittering  surface  of  sarcasm,  with 
the-strong  under-current  of  sense,  and  the  peculiar  off-hand  impetuosity  of  idea  and 
illustration,  unmistakeably  indicate  Burns's  hand,  and  his  only.  In  the  Common- 
place Book,  no  date  is  given;  but  from  the  terms  of  the  two  closing  stanzas,  it 
would  appear  that  the  voyage  to  Jamaica  was  in  contemplation  at  the  period  of  its 
composition.  The  last  stanza  is  almost  identical  in  thought  and  expression  with 
the  closing  lines  of  the  well-known  Dedication  to  Gavin  Hamilton,  which  was 
written  at  that  time,  and  which  appeared  in  the  first  edition  of  the  Poems  printed 
at  Kilmarnock. 

The  Ver  sides  on  Signposts  have  the  following  introduction: — "The  everlasting 
surliness  of  a  Lion,  Saracen's  head,  &<3.  or  the  unchanging  blandness  of  the  Land- 
lord welcoming  a  traveller,  on  some  sign-posts,  would  be  no  bad  similes  of  the 
constant  affected  fierceness  of  a  Bully,  or  the  eternal  simper  of  a  Frenchman  or  a 
Fiddler."  The  Versicles  themselves  are  of  little  worthy  and  are  indebted  entirely 
to  their  paternity  for  their  appearance  here. 


*8o 


APPENDIX. 


ELEGY. 

Strait  is  the  spot  and  green  the  sod, 
From  whence  my  sorrows  flow  : 

And  soundly  sleeps  the  ever  dear 
Inhabitant  below. 

Pardon  my  transport,  gentle  sh\de, 
While  o'er  the  turf  I  bow ! 

Thy  earthly  house  is  circumscrib'd, 
And  solitary  now. 

Not  one  poor  stone  to  tell  thy  name, 
Or  make  thy  virtues  known  : 

But  what  avails  to  me,  to  thee, 
The  sculpture  of  a  stone  ? 

I'll  sit  me  down  upon  this  turf, 

And  wipe  away  this  tear : 
The  chill  blast  passes  swiftly  by, 

And  flits  around  thy  bier. 

Bark  is  the  dwelling  of  the  Dead, 
And  sad  their  house  of  rest : 

Low  lies  the  head  by  Death's  cold  arm 
In  aweful  fold  embrae'd. 

I  saw  the  grim  Avenger  stand 

Incessant  by  thy  side  ; 
Unseen  by  thee,  his  deadly  breath 

-Thy  lingering  frame  destroy'd. 

Pale  grew  the  roses  on  thy  cheek, 
And  withered  was  thy  bloom, 

Till  the  slow  poison  brought  thy  youth 
Untimely  to  the  tomb. 

Thus  wasted  are  the  ranks  of  men, 
Youth,  Health,  and  Beauty  fall : 

The  ruthless  ruin  spreads  around, 
And  overwhelms  us  ail. 

Behold  where  round  thy  narrow  house 
The  graves  unnumber'd  lie  1 

The  multitudes  that  sleep  below 
Existed  but  to  die. 

Some,  with  the  tottering  steps  of  Age, 
Trod  down  the  darksome  way : 

And  some,  in  youth's  lamented  prime, 
Like  thee,  were  torn  away. 

Yet  these,  however  hard  their  fate, 
Their  native  earth  receives  : 

Amid  their  weeping  friends  they  died, 
And  fill  their  fathers'  graves. 


From  thy  lovM  friends  when  first  thy 
heart 

Was  taught  by  Heaven  to  flow  : 
Far,  far  removM,  the  ruthless  stroke 

Surpris'd  and  laid  thee  low. 

At  the  last  limits  of  our  isle, 
Wash'd  by  the  western  wave, 

Touch'd  by  thy  fate,-  a  thoughtful  bard 
Sits  lonely  on  thy  grave. 

Pensive  he  eyes,  before  him  spread, 
The  deep,  outstretch'd  and  vast ; 

His  mourning  notes  are  borne  away 
Along  the  rapid  blast. 

And  while,  amid  the  silent  Dead 
Thy  hapless  fate  he  mourns, 

His  own  long  sorrows  freshly  bleed, 
And  all  his  grief  returns. 

Like  thee,  cut  off  in  early  youth 
And  flower  of  beauty's  pride, 

His  friend,  his  first  and  only  joy, 
His  much  loved  Stella,  died. 

Him,  too,  the  stern  impulse  of  Fate 

Resistless  bears  along ; 
And  the  same  rapid  tide  shall  whelm 

The  Poet  and  the  Song. 

The  tear  of  pity  which  he  shed, 

He  asks  not  to  receive  ; 
Let  but  his  poor  remains  be  laid 

Obscurely  in  the  grave. 

His  grief-worn  heart,  with  truest  joy, 
Shall  meet  the  welcome  shock  : 

His  airy  harp  shall  lie  unstrung 
And  silent  on  the  rock. 

O,  my  dear  maid,  my  Stella,  when 
Shall  this  sick  period  close  : 

And  lead  the  solitary  bard 
To  his  beloved  repose  ? 

EXTEMPORE 

TO   MR.    GAVIN    HAMILTON. 

To  you,  Sir,  this  summons  I've  sent,- 
Pray  whip  till  the  pownie  is  fraething  ; 

But  if  you  demand  what  I  want, 
I  honestly  answer  you>  naeibio% 


APPENDIX. 


2St 


Ne'er  scorn  a  poor  Poet  like  me, 
For  idly  just,  living  and  breathing, 

While  people  of  every  degree 
Are  busy  employed  about — naething. 

Poor  Cen'tum-per-centum  may  fast, 
And  grumble  his  hurdies  their  clash- 
ing; 

He'll  find,  when  the  balance  is  cast, 
He's  gane  to  the  devil  for— naething. 

The  courtier  cringes  and  bows, 

Ambition  has  likewise  its  plaything  ; 

A  coronet  beams  on  his  brows  : 
And  what  is  a  coronet  ?— naething. 

Some  quarrel  the  Presbyter  gown, 
Some  quarrel  Episcopal  graithing, 

But  every  good  fellow  will  own 
Their  quarrel. is  all  about— naething. 

The  lover  may  sparkle  and  glow, 
Approaching  his  bonie  bit  gay  thing  : 

But  marriage  will  soon  let  him  know 
He's  gotten  a  buskit  up  naething. 

The  Poet  may  jingle  and  rhyme 
In  hopes  of  a  laureate  wreathing, 

And  when  he  has  wasted  his  time 
He's  kindly  rewarded  with  naething. 

The  thundering  bully  may  rage, 

And    swagger    and    swear    like    a 
heathen ; 

But  collar  him  fast,  I'll  engage, 

You'll  find  that  his  courage  i^naething. 

Last  night  with  a  feminine  whig, 
A  Poet  she  could  na  put  faith  in, 

But  soon  we  grew  lovingly  big, 

I  taught  her,  her  terrors  were  naething. 

Her  whigship  was  wonderful  pleased,- 
But  charmingly  tickled  wi'  ae  thing  ; 


Her  fingers  I  lovingly  squeezed, 
And  kissed  her  and  promised  her— 

naething. 

The  priest  anathemas  may  threat, — 
Predicament,  Sir,  that  we're  baith  in ; 

But  when  honour's  reveille  is  beat, 
The  holy  artillery's  naething. 

And  now,  I  must  mount  on  the  wave, 
My  voyage  perhaps  there  is  death  in  : 

But  what  of  a  watery  grave  ? 
The  drowning  a  Poet  is  naething. 

And  now,  as  grim  death's  in  my  thought, 
To  you,  Sir,  I  make  this  bequeathing  : 

My  service  as  long  as  ye've  aught, 
And  my  friendship,  by  G — ,  when 
ye've  naething. 

VERSICLES  ON  SIGN-POSTS. 

He  looked 
Just  as  your  Sign-post  lions  do, 
As  fierce,  and  quite  as  harmless  too. 

PATIENT  STUPIDITY. 

So  heavy,  passive  to  the.tempests'  shocks, 
Strong  on  the  Sign-post  stands  the  stupid 
Ox. 


His  face  with  smile  eternal  drest, 
Just  like  the  Landlord  to  his  guest, 
High  as  they  hang  with  creaking  din, 
To  index  out  the  Country  Inn. 


A  head,  pure,  sinless  quite  of  brain  and 

soul. 
The  very  image  of  a  Barber's  Poll  ; 
It  shows  a  human  face  and  wears  a  wig, 
And  looks,  when  well  preserved,  amazing 

big. 


283 


NOTES. 


Page  i.  The  tale  of  the  '  Twa  Dogs,  Gilbert 
Burns  writes,  was  composed  after  the  resolution 
of  publishing  was  nearly  taken.  Robert  had  a 
dog  which  he  called  Luath,  that  was  a  great 
favourite.  The  dog  had  been  killed  by  the 
wanton  cruelty  of  some  person  the  night  before 
my  father's  death.  Robert  said  to  me,  that  he 
should  like  to  confer  such  immortality  as  he 
could  bestow  b.n  his  old  friend  Luath,  and 
tliat  he  had  a  great  mind  to  introduce  something 
into  the  book,  under  the  title  of  Stanzas  to  the 
Memory  of  a  Quadruped  Friend  ;  but  this  plan 
was  given  up  for  the  poem  as  it  now  stands. 
Caesar  was  merely  the  creature  of  the  poet's 
imagination,  created  for  the  purpose  of  holding 
chat  with  his  favourite  Luath. 

Page  i,  /  26.  Luath,  Cuchuliin's  dog  in 
Ossian's  Fingal.     R.  B. 

Page  2,  /  8.    Var.   In  all  editions  up  to  1794 — 
Till  tired  at  last  \vi'  many  a  farce, 
They  sat  them  down  upon  their  a—. 

Page  3,  /  14.  Burns  alludes  to  the  factor  in 
the  autobiographical  sketch  communicated  to 
Dr.  John  Moore. 

1  My  father's  generous  master  died  :  the  farm 
proved  a  ruinous  bargain  :  and,  to  clench  the 
misfortune,  we  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  factor 
who  sat  for  the  picture  I  have  drawn  of  one  in 
my  tale  of  the  "Twa  Dogs"  ...  my  indigna- 
tion yet  boils  at  the  recollection  of  the  scoundrel 
facior's  insolent  threatening  letters,  which  used 
%<c  set  us  all  in  tears. ' 

Page  8,  /  10.  In  the  first  edition  the  stanza 
dosed  as  follows :  — 

Wao  worth  them  for't! 
While  healths  gae  round  to  him,  wha  tight, 
Gies  famous  sport 

Page  9,  /  2.  Var,  "Humble  thanks"  in 
edition  of  1794. 

Page  9,  1 25.  This  was  wrote  before  the  Act 
anent  the  Scotch  Distilleries,  of  Session,  1786  : 
for  which  Scotland  and  the  author  return  their 
most  grateful  thanks.     R.  B. 

Page  9,  /  35.  Var.  *  Simple  Poet's  prayers ' 
in  edition  of.  1794. 

Page  11,  /  1.  The  allusion  in  the  text  is  pri- 
marily to  Hugh  Montgom.-rie  of  Coilsfteld, 
twelfth  Earl  of  Eglintoune. 

Page  11,  /  2.  James  Boswell  of  Auchinleck, 
Johnson's  biographer. 

Page  11,  /  17.  George  Dempster,  Esq.  of 
Dunnichen. 

Page  11,  /  18.  Sir  Adam  Fergusspn  of  Kil- 
kerran,  Bart. 

Page  11,  /  20.  The  Marquis  of  Graham, 
eldest  son  of  the  Duke  of  Montrose. 

Page  11,  /aa.   The  Right  Hon.  Henry  Dun- 


das,  Treasurer  of  the  Navy,  and  M.P.  for  the 
city  of  Edinburgh, 

Page  11,  I  24.  Lord  Frederick  Campbell, 
second  brother  of  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  and  Hay 
Campbell,  Lord  Advocate  of  Scotland. 

Page  12,  /  13.  The  Earl  of  Chatham,  Pitt's 
father,  was  the  second  son  of  Robert  Pitt  of 
Boconnock,  in  the  county  of  Cornwall. 

Page  12,  /  15.  A  worthy  old  hostess  of  the 
author's  in  Mauchline,  where  he  sometimes 
studies  politics  over  a  glass  of  guid  old  Scotch 
drink.  R.  B.  Nanse  was  surprised  at  her  house 
and  name  being  thus  dragged  before  the  public. 
She  declared  that  Burns  had  never  taken  three 
half-mutchkins  in  her  house  in  all  his  life. 

Page  13,  /  37.  In  edition  of  1794  this  stanza 
is  altered  as  follows : — 

"Scotlard,  my  auld  respected  mither! 
Tho'  whiles  ye  moistify  your  leather, 
Till  when  ye  speak,  ye  a'iblins  blether ;  , 

Yet deil  mak  matter' 
Freedom  and  Whisky  gang  thegither, 

Tak  aft  your  whither. 

This  tasteless  alteration  (which  we  feel  con- 
vinced was  not  made  by  the  poet)  was  not 
adopted  in  any  subsequent  edition  of  the  Poems. 

Page  14,  /  1.  Holy  Fair  is  a  common  phrase 
in  the  west  of  Scotland  for  a  sacramental  occa- 
sion.    R.  B. 

Page  15,  /  39.     Var. 

Bet  B— r  there,  an'  twa-three  whores. 

Racer  Jess  was  a  half-witted  daughter  of 
Poosie  Nansie.  She  was  a  great  pedestrian, 
and  died  at  Mauchline  in  1813. 

Page  15,  I  43-  Var.  An'  there,  -a  batch  o' 
wabster  brawds. 

Page  16,  /  2.    Var.  An'  ithers  on  their  claes. 

Page  16,  /22.     V.ar. 

Wi'  tidings  o'  salvation. 

The  change  in  the  text  was  made  at  the  sug- 
gestion of  Dr.  Blair. 

Page  16,  /  25.  Var.  The  vera  sight  o'  Saw 
nie's  face. 

Page.  16,  /  2§.  Var.  Tae  hell  wi'  speed 
had  sent  him. 

Page  16,  /41.     Var. 

Geordie  begins  his  cauld  haranguea. 

The  Rev.  George  Smith,  minister  at  Galston. 

Page  16,  /  42.  Var.  On  practice  and  of 
morals. 

Page  17,  /12.     Var. 

For  salry  Willy  water-fit. 

The  Rev.  William  Peebles,  minister  of  New- 
ton-upon-Ayr. 

Page  17,  /  17.  A  slreet  so  called,  which* 
faces  the  tent  in  Mauchline.     R.  B. 


2$4 


NOTES. 


Page  17,  /  19.  The  Rev.  W.  Miller,  assistant 
preacher  at  Auchinleck,  and  afterwards  minister 
of  KUniaurs,  near  Kilmarnock.  He  was  of  short 
stature. 

Page  18,  /  13.     Var. 

Black  Jock  is  na  spairi<\. 

The  Rev.  John  Russel,  minister  of  the  Chapel 
Of  Ease,  Kilmarnock. 

Page  18,  /  17.   Shakespeare's  Hamlet.  R.  B. 

Page  18,  /32.  Var.  How  y ill  gaed  round 
in  jugs  an'  caups. 

Page  18,  /  37.  Var.  Then  comes  a  gaucie, 
gash  guidwife. 

Page  19.  The  composition  of  '  Death  and 
Doctor  Hornbook'  was  suggested  by  the  cir- 
cumstances related  in  the  Preface.  It  was 
composed  rapidly.  Burns  met  the  apothecary 
at  a  meeting  of  the  Tarbolton  Masonic  lodge, 
and  the  next  afternoon  he  repeated  the  entire 
poem  to  Gilbert.  With  reference  to  its  compo- 
sition, Mr.  Allan  Cunningham  supplies  the  fol- 
lowing tradition,  which  is  nonsense  on  the  face 
of  it. 

4  On  his  way  home,' — from  the  Masonic  meet- 
ing— '  the  Poet  found  a  neighbour  lying  tipsy 
by  the  road-side  ;  the  idea  of  Death  flashed  on 
his  fancy,  and  seating  himself  on  the  parapet  of 
a  bridge,  he  composed  the  poem,  fell  asleep,  and 
when  awakened  by  the  morning  sun,  he  recol- 
lected it  all,  and  wrote  it  down  on  reaching 
Mossgiel/ 

The  laughter  occasioned  by  the  publication 
of  the  satire  drove,  it  is  said,  John  Wilson, 
schoolmaster  and  apothecary,  out  of  the  county. 
He  ultimately  settled  in  Glasgow,  became  Ses- 
sion Clerk  of  the  Gorbals,  and  died  in  1839. 
'Death  and  Doctor  Hornbook'  first  appeared 
in  the  Edinburgh  edition  of  the  poems. 

Page  19,  /  29.  In  all  the  editions  up  to  1794 
.this  line  stood ; 

Great  lies  and  nonsense  baith  to  vend. 

Page  19,  /  37.  Mr.  Robert  Wright,  in  his 
Life  of  Major-General  James  Wolfe,  states  that 
*  Hell  *  was  the  name  given  to  the  arched  passage 
in  Dublin  which  led  into  the  area  on  the  south 
side  of  Christ  Church,  and  east  of  the  law  courts. 
A  representation  of  the  Devil,  carved  in  oak, 
Stood  above  the  entrance. 

Page  20,  /  32.  This  rencounter  happened  in 
seed-time,  1785.     R.  B. 

Page  si,  /g.  An  epidemical  fever  was  then 
raging  in  that  country.     R.  B. 

Page  21,  2  21.  This  gentleman,  Dr.  Horn- 
book, is,  professionally,  a  brother  of  the  Sove- 
reign Order  of  the  Ferula,  but  by  intuition  and 
inspiration  is  at  once  an  apothecary,  surgeon, 
and  physician.     R.  B. 

Page nit  1 25.  Buchan's  Domestic  Medicine. 
R.  B. 

Pog9  2a,  ?%\.    The  grave-digger.    $.  B. 


Page  24.  The  occasion  of  this  poem  was 
the  erection  of  a  new  bridge  across  the  river 
at  Ayr,  to  supersede  the  inconvenient  structure 
built  in  the  reign  of  Alexander  III.  Mr.  Bal- 
lantine,  Burns'  patron,  and  chief  magistrate  of 
the  town,  was  mainly  instrumental  in  raising 
funds  for  the  work  ;  and  to  him  the  poem  is 
dedicated. 

Page  25,  / 15.  A  noted  tavern  at  the  Auld 
Brig  end.     R.  B. 

Page  25,  /  20.     Var. 

The  drowsy  steeple  clock  had  numbered  two. 

The  two  steeples.  R.  B.  The  'Dungeon 
Clock '  in  this,  and  the  '  Wallace  Tow'r '  in  the 
following  line. 

Page  25,  /  28.     Var. 
When,  lo  !  before  our  Bardie's  wond'rlng  e'en 
The  Brigs  of  Ayr's  twa  sprites  are  seen. 

Page  25,  /  31.  The  Gos-hawk  or  Falcoo. 
R.  B. 

Page  26,  /  11  &  12.  This  couplet— the  most 
picturesque  and  memorable  in  the  poem — does 
not  occur  in  the  MS.  copy. 

Page  26,  / 15.  A  noted  ford,  just  above  the 
Auld  Brig.     R.  B. 

Page  26,  /  30.      Var. 

Or  haunted  Garpal  draws  Its  feeble  source* 

The  banks  of  Garpal  water  is  one  of  the  few. 
places  in  the  west  of  Scotland  where  those  fancy« 
scaring  beings  known  by  the  name  of  Ghaists 
still  continue  pertinaciously  to  inhabit.     R.  B. 

Page  26,  /31.  Var.  Aroused  by  blust'ring 
winds  an'  spotted  thowes. 

Page  26,  /  35.  '  Glenbuck,'  the  source  of  the 
river  Ayr.    R.  B. 

Page  26,  2  36.  '  Ratton-Key,  a  small  land- 
ing-place above  the  large  key.     R.  B. 

Page  28,  /  3.  Var.  To  liken  them  to  your 
auld  warld  bodies.. 

Page  28,  1 4.  Var.  I  must  needs  say  com- 
parisons are  odious. 

Page  28,  /  14.  Var.  Plain  kind  stupidity 
stept  kindly  in  to  aid  them. 

Page  28,  /  25.  A  well-known  performer  of 
Scottish  music  on  the  violin.     R.  B. 

Page  28,  /  49.     A  stream  near  Coilsfield. 

Page  28,  /51.     Mrs.  Stewart  of  Stair. 

Page  29,  /  2.  The  seat  of  Professor  Dugald 
Stewart, 

Page  29.  'The  Ordination'  was  composed 
on  the  Rev.  Mr.  Mackinlay  being  called  to  Kil- 
marnock. It  was  first  printed  in  the  second 
edition  of  the  Poems, 

Page  29,  / 17.  Alluding  to  a  scoffing  ballad 
which  was  made  on  the  admission  of  the  late 
reverend  and  worthy  Mr.  Lindsay  to  the  Laigb 
Kirk.    R.  B. 


NOTES. 


285 


Page  29,  /  3,  2  col.     Var. 

Formula  and  confession : 
An'  lay  your  hands  upon  his  head, 
An'  seal  hit*  high  commission. 
The  holy  flock  to  tent  an'  feed. 

Page  30,  /  15,  2  col.     Var. 

Will  clap  him  in  the  torture. 

Page  30,  1 21,  2  col.  'New  Light'  is  a  cant 
phrase  in  the  west  of  Scotland  for  those  reli- 
gious opinions  which  Dr.  Taylor  of  Norwich 
has  so  strenuously  defended.     R.  B. 

Page  30,  /  28.  With  reference  to  this  piece 
Burns  wrote  to  a  correspondent : — '  Warm  recol- 
lection of  an  absent  friend  presses  so  hard  upon 
my  heart,  that  I  send  him  the  prefixed  bagatelle, 
pleased  with  the  thought  that  it  will  greet  the 
man  of  my  bosom,  and  be  a  kind  of  distant  lan- 
guage of  friendship.  ...  It  was  merely  an  ex- 
temporaneous production,  on  a  wager  with  Mr. 
Hamilton  that  I  would  not  produce  a  poem  on 
the  subject  in  a  given  time.'  The  Rev.  Mr. 
Steven  was.  afterwards  minister  of  one  of  the 
Scotch  churches  in  London— where,  in  1790, 
William  Burns,  the  Poet's  brother,  heard  him 
preach — and  he  finally  settled  at  Kilwinning  in 
Ayrshire,  where  he  died  in  .1824. 

Page  31.  Gilbert  Burns  says:  'It  was,  I 
think,  in  the  winter  of  1784,  as  we  were  going 
together  with  carts  for  coal  to  the  family  fire 
(and  I  could  yet  point  out  the  particular  spot), 
that  the  author  first  repeated  to  me  the  "Address 
to  the  Deil."  The  curious  idea  of  such  an 
address  was  suggested  to  him  by  turning  over 
in  his  mind  the  many  ludicrous  accounts,  and 
representations  we  have  from  various  quarters 
of  this  august  personage.' 

Page  32,  /  13.  This  stanza  was  originally  as 
follows :~ 

Lang  syne  In  Eden's  happy  scene,. 
When  strappin'  Adam's  days  were  green, 
And  Eve  was  like  my  borne  Jean, 

My  dearest  part, 
A  dancin  ,  sweet,  young,  handsome  quean, 
Wi'  guileless  heart. 

Page  32,  /  n,  2  col.  Vide  Milton,  Book  vi, 
R.  B. 

Page  32,  /  29.  This  was  one  of  Burns'  ear- 
liest poems,  the  first  indication  of  that  peculiar, 
moral  humour  of  which  the  'Twa  Dogs'  is  the 
finest  example.  It  was  written  before  1784,  and 
Gilbert  Burns  informed  Dr.  Currie  that  'the 
circumstances  of  the  poor  sheep  were  pretty 
much  as  he  has  described  them :  he  had,  partly 
by  way  of  frolic,  bought  a  ewe  and  two  lambs 
from  a  neighbour,  and  she  was  tethered  in  a  field 
adjoining  the  house  at  Lochlea.  He  and  I  were 
going  out  with  our  teams,  and  our  two  younger 
brothers  to  drive  for  us,  at  mid-day,  when  Hugh 
Wilson,  a  curious-looking,  awkward  lad,  clad  in 
plaiding,  came  to  us  with  much  anxiety  in  his 
face,  with  the  information  that  the  ewe  had 
entangled  herself  in  the  tether,  and  was  lying 
in  the  ditch.  Robert  was  much  tickled  with 
Hughoc's  appearance  and  postures  on  the  occa- 
sion.   Poor  Mailie  was  set  to  rights,  and  when 


we  returned  from  the  plough  in  the  evening  he 
repeated  to  me  her  "Death  and  Dying  Words' 
pretty  much  in  the  way  they  now  stand.' 

Page  32,  /  34.  A  neibor  herd  callan.  R.  B. 
'  In  a  copy  of  this  poem  in  the  Poet's  handwrit- 
ing, possessed  by  Miss  Grace  Aiken,  Ayr,  a 
more  descriptive  note  is  here  given.  "  Hughoc 
was  an  odd,  glowran,  gapin'  callan,  about  three- 
fourths  as  wise  as  other  folk." '     Chambers. 

Page  33,  /  26,  2  col.  This  stanza  was  origin- 
ally written : — 

She  was  nae  get  o'  runted  rams, 

Wi'  woo'  like  goats,  and  legs  ljke  trams ; 

She  was  the  flower  o'  Pairlie  lambs, 

A  famous  breed : 
Now  Robin,  greerln',  chows  the  hams 

0'  Mailie  dead. 

Pa&  34-  'Mr.  James  Smith  was,  when  this 
epistle  was  written,  a  shopkeeper  in  Mauch- 
line.  He  afterwards  removed  to  Avon  near 
Linlithgow,  where  he  established  a  calico-print- 
ing manufactory.  Being  unsuccessful  in  his 
speculations,  he  emigrated  to  the- West  Indies; 
where  he  died. 

Page  35t  I  *9i  2  col.  George  Dempster*  Esq. 
of  Dunnichen. 

Page  36.  Certain  of  Burns'  friends— Mrs. 
Dunlop,  and  Mrs.  Stewart  of  Stair  —  con- 
sidered the  '  Dream '  to  contain  perilous  stuff". 
These  ladies,  it  is  said,  Vainly  solicited  the  Poet 
to  omit  it  in  the  second  edition  of  his  poems. 
The  '  Dream,'  if  not  a  high,  is  a  very  charac- 
teristic effort :  there  never  was  an  easier  hand- 
gallop  of  verse. 

Page  36,  /  14,  2  col.  An  allusion  to  the  loss 
of  the  North  American  colonies. 

Page  37,  lj.  'Oh  the  supplies  for  the  Navy 
being  voted,  Spring  1786,  Captain  Macbride 
counselled  some  changes  in  that  force,  parti- 
cularly the  giving  up  of  sixty-four  gun-ships, 
which  occasioned  a  good  deal  of  discussion. 
Chambers. 

Page  37,  /  35.     Charles  James  Fox. 

Page  37,  /  6,  2  col  Frederick,  Bishop  of 
Osnaburg,  afterwards  Duke  of  York. 

Page  37»  /  15,  2  col.  William^  afterwards 
Duke  of  Clarence,  and  King  William  IV. 

Page  37,  / 17,  2  col.  Alluding  to  the  news- 
paper account  of  a  certain  royal  sailor's  amour. 
;    B. 

Page  38.  Duan,  a  term  of  Osftian's  for  the 
different  divisions  of  a  digressive  poem.  See 
his  '  Cath-Loda,'  vol.  ii.  of  McPherson's  trans- 
lation.    R.  B. 

Page  38,  /  27,  2  col.  This  line  supplies  a  cu- 
rious instance  of  the  fluctuations  of  Burns'  mind 
and  passion.  It  was  originally  written  as  it 
stands  in  the  text,  but  in  the  bitter  feeling  in* 
duced  by  the  destruction  of  the  marriage  fines 
he  had  given  to  Jean  Armour  he  transferred 


PR 


286 


NOTES. 


the  compliment  to  the  reigning  favourite  of  the 
hour.     In  the  first  edition  the  line  stood  — 

And  such  a  leg!  my  Bess,  I  ween. 
In  the  Edinburgh  edition,  the  old  affection  being 
fn  the  ascendant  again,  the  line  was  restored  to 
its  original  shape. 

Page  39,  /  19.  This  and  the  six  following 
stanzas  appeared  for  the  first  time  in  the  second 
edition. 

Page  39,  /  26.    The  Wallaces.*    R  B. 

Page  39,  /  i,  2  col.     Wdliam  Wallace.    R.  13. 

Page  39,  I  2,  2  col.  Adam  Wallace  of 
Richardton,  cousin  of  the  immortal  preserver 
of  Scottish  independence.     R.  B. 

Page  39,  /  3,  2  col  ^ Wallace,  Laird  of 
Craigie,  who  was  second  in  command,  under 
Douglas,  Earl  of  Ormond,  at  the  .famous  battle 
on  the  banks  of  the  Sark,  fought  anno  1448. 
That  glorious  victory  was  principally  owing  to 
the  judicious  conduct  and  intrepid  valour  of  the 
gallant  Laira  of  Craigie,  who  died  of  his  wounds 
after  the  action.     R.  B. 

Page  39,  /  7  '  col.  Coilus,  King  of  the 
Picts,  from  whom  the  district  of  Kyle  is  said  to 
take  its  name,  lies,  buried,  as  tradition  says.  Bear 
the  family  seat  of  the  Montgomeries  of  Coils- 
field,  where  his  burial-place  is  still  shown.   R.  B. 

Page  39,  /  13,  2  col.  Barskimming,  the  seat 
of  the  Lord  Justice  Clerk.  R.  B.  (Sir  Thomas 
Miller  of  Glenlee,  afterwards  President  of  the 
Court  of  Session.) 

Page  39,  / 19,  2  col.  Catrine,  the  seat  of  the 
late  Doctor,  and  present  Professor,  Stewart. 
R.  B. 

Page  39,  /  25,  2  col.   Colonel  Fullarton.   R.  B. 

Page  41,  / 18,  2  col.  In  the.  Appendix  to  the 
second  volume  of  Mr.  Robert  Chambers'  'Life 
and  Works  of  Burns '  are  printed  the  following 
additional  stanzas  of  the  'Vision,'  taken  from  a 
MS.  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Dick,  bookseller, 
Ayr.  After  the  18th  stanza  of  printed  copies  :— 

With  secret  throes  I  mark'd  that  earth. 
That  cottage,  witness  of  my  birth  ; 
And  near  I  saw,  bold  issuing  forth, 

In  youthful  pride, 
A  Lindsay,  race  of  noble  worth, 

Tamed  far  and  wide. 
Where,  hid  behind  a  spreading  wood, 
An  ancient  Pict-built  mansion  stood, 
I  spied,  among  an  angel  brood, 

A  female  pair; 
Sweet  shone  their  high  maternal  blood 

And  father's  air. 
An  ancient-tower  to  memory  brought 
How  Dettingen's  bold  hero  fought; 
Still,  far  from  sinking  into  nought, 

It  owns  a  lord 
Who  'far  i»i  western  '  climates  fought 

With  trusty  sword. 
There,  where  a  sceptred  Pictish  shade 
Stalk'd  round  his  ashes  lowly  laid, 
I  saw  a  martial  race  portray  d 

In  colours  strong : 
Bold,  eodger-featured,  undlsmay'd, 

They  stalked  along. 


Among  the  rest  I  well  could  any 
One  gallant,  graceful,  martial  boy; 
The  aodger  sparkled  in  his  eye, 

A  diamond  water ; 
1  blest  that  noble  badge  with  joy 

That  owned  me  (rater.  * 

After  the  20th  stanza  : — 

Near  by  arose  a  mansion  fine, 
The  seat  of  limit}-  a  Muse  divine ; 
Wot  rustic  Muses  such  as  mine, 

With  holly  crowned, 
But  til*  ancient,  tuneful,  laurelled  nine 

From  classic  ground. 
I  mourned  the  card  that  fortune  dealt, 
To  see  where  bonie  Whitcibords  dwelt; 
But  other  prospects  made  me  meit,- 

That  village  near.     " 
There  nature,  friendship,  love,  I  felt, 

Fond— mingling  dear. 
Hail  nature's  pang,  more  strong  than  death  ! 
Warm  friendship's  glow,  like  kindling  wrath'. 
Love,  dearer  than  the  parting  breath 

01  dying  friend ! 
Not  even  with  life's  wild  devious  path 

Your  force  shall  end. 
The  power  that  gave  the  soft  alarms 
In  blooming  Whitefoords'  rosy  charms, 
Still  threats  the  tiny-leathered  anna, 

The  barbed  dart, 
While  lovely  Wilhelmina  charms 

The  coldest  heart. 

After  the  21st : — 

Where  Lugar  leaves  his  moorland  plaid, 
Where  lately  Want  was  idly  laid, 
I  marked  busy,  bustling  Trade 

In  fervid  dame, 
Beneath  a  patroness's  air 

Of  noble  name. 
While  countless  hills  I  could  survey, 
And  countless  flocks  as  well  as  they; 
But  other  scenes  did  charms  display 

That  better  please, 
Where  polished  manners  dwelt  with  Gray 

In  rural  ease. 
Where  Cessnock  flows  with  gurgling  sound, 
And  Irwine  marking  out  the  bound, 
Enamoured  of  the  scenes  around, 

Slow  runs  his  race, 
A  name  I  doubly  honoured  found 

With  kiiightly  grace. 
Brydone's  brave  ward  I  saw  him  stand, 
Fame  humbly  offering  her  hand, 
And  near  his'kinsman's  rustic  band 

With  one  accord 
Lamenting  their  late  blessed  land 

Must  change  its  lord. 
The  owner  of  a  pleasant  spot, 
Near  sandy  wilds  I  did  him  note : 
A  heart  too  warm,  a  pulse  too  hot, 

At  times  o'erran, 
But,  large  in  every,  feature  wrote, 

Appeared  the  man. 

Page  41,  / 19.  This  poem  was  first  printed  in 
the  second  edition  of  Burns'  works. 

Page  42,  /17.  When  this  worthy  old  sports- 
man went  out  last  muir-fowl  season,  he  supposed 
it  was  to  be,  in  Ossian's  phrase,  '  the  last  cf  his 
fields,'  and  expressed  an  ardent  desire  to  die  and 
be  buried  in  the  muirs.  On  this  hint  the  author 
composed  his  Elegy  and  Epitaph.     R.  B. 

•  Captain  James  Montgomery,  Master  of  St.  James's 
Lodge,  Torbolton,  to  which  the  author  ha»  the  honour 
to  belong.    K.  B. 


NOTES. 


287 


Page  42,  /  33.  A  certain  preacher,  a  great 
favourite  with  the  million.  Vide  the  '  Ordina- 
tion/ stanza  ii.    R.  B. 

Page  42,  /  34.  Another  preacher,  an  equal 
favourite  with  the  few,  who  was  at  that  time 
ailing.  For  him  see  also  the  'Ordination,' 
stanza  ix.     R.  B. 

Page  43,  /  25.  This  stanza  does  not  appear 
in  the  Edinburgh  edition. 

Page  43,  /  22,  col  2.  Killie  is  a  phrase  the 
country  folk  sometimes  use  for  the  name  of  a 
certain  town  in  the  west  (Kilmarnock;.    R.  B. 

Page  48.  The  scene  of  the  '  Jolly  Begg  irs ' 
was  the  Change  house  of  Poosie  Nansie's  in 
Mauchline,  a  favourite  haunt  of  all  kinds  of 
vagrants.  It  is  said  that  Burns  witnessed  the 
circumstances  which  gave  rise  to  the  poem  in 
company  with  his  friend  James  Smith.  Although 
the  most  dramatic  of  all  Bums'  performances,  it 
was  not  a  favourite  with  his  mother  and  brother, 
and  he  never  seems  to  have  thought  it  worthy 
of  publication.  Mr.  George  Thomson  had  heard 
of  its  existence,  and  in  1793  wrote  the  Poet  on 
the  subject.  Burns  replied,  '  I  have  forgot  the 
cantata  you  allude  to,  as  I  kept  no  copy,  and, 
indeed,  did  not  know  of  its  existence  ;  however, 
I  remember  that  none  of  the  songs  pleased  my- 
self except  the  last,  something  about 
*  Courts  for  cowards  were  elected, 
Churches  built  to  please  the  priest.' 

It  was  first  published  in  Glasgow  in  1801. 

Page  48,  /■  34.  The  heights  of  Abraham, 
where  Wolfe  gloriously  fell. 

Page  48,  /  36.  '  El  Morro,  the  castle  which 
defends  the  entrance  to  the  harbour  of  Santiago, 
or  St.  Jago,  a  small  island  near  the  southern 
shore  of  Cuba.  It  is  situated  on  an  eminence, 
the  abutments  being  cut  out  of  the  limestone 
rock.  Logans  Notes  0/ a  Tour,  &>c.  Edm- 
burgh,  1838.  In  1762  this  castle  was  stormed 
and  taken  by;  the  British,  after  which  the  Havana 
was  surrendered,  with  spoil  to  the  value  of  three 
millions.'     Chambers. 

Page  48,  /  41.  Captain  Curtis,  who  destroyed 
the  Spanish  floating  batteries  during  the  siege 
of  Gibraltar. 

Page  48,  /  43.  The  defender  of  Gibraltar, 
George  Augustus  Elliot,  created  Lord  Heath- 
field  for  his  services. 

Page  54.  Gilbert  Burns  states  that  the  ' :  Verses 
to  the  Mouse'  were  composed  while  the,  author 
was  holding  the  plough.  Mr.  Chambers  relates 
a  pleasant  circumstance  in  relation  to  the  event, 
and  the  poem  to  which  it  gave  rise.  *  John 
.Blane,  who  had  acted  as  gaudsman  to  Burns, 
and  who  lived  sixty  years  afterwards,  had  a  dis- 
tinct recollection  of  the  turning  up  of  the  mouse. 
Like  a  thoughtless  youth  as  he  was,  he  ran  after 
the  creature  to  kill  it,  but  was  checked  and  re- 
called by  his  master,  who  he  observed  became 
thereafter  thoughtful  and  abstracted.  Burns, 
who  treated  his  servants  with  the  familiarity  of 


fellow-labourers,  soon  after  read  the  poem  to 
Blane.  *  The  gaudsman's  rush  after  the  terrified 
creature  may  have  suggested  the  lines : — . 

'  I.  wad  be  laith  to  rin  an*  chase  thee, 
Wi'  raurd'ring  pattie.' 

Page  55.  '  A  Winter  Night'  was  first  printed 
in  the  second  edition  of  the  poems. 

Page  57-  Davie  was  David  Sillar,  a  member 
of  the  Torbolton  Club,  and  author  of  a  volume 
of  poems  printed  at  Kilmarnock  in  1789..  Gil- 
bert Burns  states  that  the  '  Epistle  '  was  among 
the  earliest  of  his  brother's  poems.  '  It  was,'  he 
adds,  *  I  think,  in  summer,  1784,  when,  in  the 
interval  of  harder  labour,  he  and  I  were  weeding 
in  the  garden  (kailyard)  that  he  repeated  to  me 
the  principal  part  of  the  epistle.  I  believe  the 
first  idea  of  Robert's  becoming  an  author  was 
started  on  this  occasion.  I  was  much  pleased 
with  the  epistle,  and  said  to  him  I  was  of  opinion 
it  would  bear  being  printed,  and  that  it  would 
be  well  received  by  people  of  taste  ;  that  I 
thought  it  at  least  equal,  if  not  superior,  to  many 
of  Allan  Ramsay's  epistles  ;  and  that  the  merit 
of  these,  and  much  other  Scottish  poetry,  seemed 
to  consist  in  the  knack  of  the  expression  ;  but 
here  there  was  a  stream  of  interesting  sentiment, 
and  the  Scotticism  of  the  language  scarcely 
seemed  affected,  but  appeared  to  be  the  natural 
language  of  the  poet ;  that,  besides,  there  was 
certainly  some  novelty  in  a  poet  pointing  out 
the  consolations  that  were  in  store  for  him  when 
he  should  go  a-begging.^  Robert  seemed  very 
well  pleased  with  my  criticism,  and  we  talked 
of  sending  it  to  some  magazine  ;  but  as  the  plan 
afforded  no  opportunity  of  how  it  would  take, 
the  idea  was  dropped.' 

Page  57,  /  37.     Ramsay.     R.  B. 

Page,  59.  With  reference  to  the  poem  Gil- 
bert Burns  writes,  '  It  is  scarcel}'  necessary  to 
mention  that  the  "Lament"  was  composed  on 
that  unfortunate  passage  of  his  matrimonial  his- 
tory which  I  have  mentioned  in  my  letter  to 
Mrs.  Dunlop,  after  the  first  distraction  of  his 
feelings  had  a  little  subsided.' 

Page  61,  /  9.     Dr.  Young.     R.  B. 

Page  61.  Gilbert  Burns,  in  writing  of  the 
'  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,'  says,  '  Robert  had 
frequently  remarked  to  me,  that  he  thought 
there  was  something  peculiarly  venerable  in  the 
phrase,  "  Let  us  worship  God,"  used  by  a  decent 
sober  head  of  a  family  introducing  family  wor- 
ship. To  this  sentiment  of  the  author  the  world 
is  indebted  for  the  "  Cotter's  Saturday  Night."- 
The  hint  of  the  plan  and  title  of  the  poem  were 
taken  from  Fergusson's  "Farmer's  Ingle." 
When  Robert  had  not  some  pleasure  in  view  in 
which  I  was  not  thought  fit  to  participate,  we 
used  frequently  to  walk  together,  when  the 
weather  was  favourable,  on  the  Sunday  after- 
noons (those  precious  breathing  times  to  the 
labouring  part  of  the  community),  and  enjoyed 
such  Sundays  as  would  make  one  regret  to  see 
their  number  abridged.  It  was  in  one  of  these 
walks  that  I  first  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  the 


288 


NOTES. 


author  repeat  the  "  Cotter's  Saturday  Night." 
I  do  not  recollect  to  have  read  or  heard  anything 
by  which  I  was  more  highly  electrified.  The  fifth 
and  sixth  stanzas,  and  the  eighteenth,  thrilled 
with  a  peculiar  ecstasy  through  my  soul.' 

Page  62,  /  8.  Var.  Does  a'  his  weary  kiaugh 
and  care  beguile.     First  Kdinb.  edition. 

Page  65,  /  7.  Pope's  '  Windsor  Forest.'  R.  B. 
Page  65,  /  23.      Var, 

That  stream'd  thro'  great  unhappy  Wallace'  heart. 
First  and  second  edition. 

Page  65.  Gilbert  Burns  writes,  *  Several  of 
the  poems  were  produced  for  the  purpose  of 
bringing  forward  some  favourite  sentiment  of 
the  author.  He  used  to  remark  to  me  that  he 
could  not  well  conceive  a  more  mortifying  pic- 
ture of  human  life  than  a  man  seeking  work.  In 
casting  about  in  his  mind  how  this  sentiment 
might  be  brought  forward,  the  elegy  'Man  was 
imade  to  Mourn'  was  composed. 

Page  66,  /  33.  In  Burns'  memoranda  the 
following  passage  is  prefixed  to  the  prayer  i  'A 
prayer,  when  fainting  fits,  and  other  alarming 
symptoms  of  pleurisy,  or  some  other  dangerous 
disorder,  which  indeed  still  threatens  me,  first 
put  nature  on  the  alarm. ' 

Page  67,  1 14.  Var,  Again  by  passion  would 
be  led  astray. 

Page  67,  /  20.     Var. 
If  one  so  black  with  crimes  dare  call  on  Thee. 

Page  67,  /  24.     Var. 

Those  rapid  headlong  passions  to  confine. 

Page  67,  1 25.     Var. 

For  all  unfit  my  native  powers  be. 

Page  67,  /  28.  'The  first  time,'  says  Gilbert 
Burns,  'Robert  heard  the  spinnet  played  upon 
was  at  the  house  of  Dr.  Laurie,  then  minister 
•of  the  parish  of  Loudon,  now  in  Glasgow, 
having  given  up  the  parish  in  favour  of  his  son. 
Dr.  Laurie  has  several  daughters  :  one  of  them 
played ;  the  father  and  mother  led  down  the 
dance  ;  the  rest  of  the  sisters,  the. brother,  the 
Poet,  and  the  other  guests,  mixed  in  it.  It  was 
a  delightful  family  scene  for  qui-  Poet,  then 
lately  introduced  to  the  world.  His  mind  was 
roused  to  a  poetic  enthusiasm, 'and  the  stanzas 
Were  left  in'  the  room  where  he  slept.'  Mr. 
Chambers  states  that  the  morning  after  the 
dance  Burns  did  not  make  his  appearance  at 
the  breakfast  table  at  the  usual  >  hour.  Dr. 
Laurie's  son  went  to  inquire  for  him,  and  met 
him  on  the  stair.  The  young  man  asked  Burns 
if  he  had  slept  well.  '  Not  well,'  was  the  reply  : 
'  the  fact  is,  I  have  been  praying  half  the  night. 
If  you  go  up  to  my  room,  you  will  find  my 
prayer  on  the  table.' 

Pare  68,  I  21.  ,  In  Burns'  memoranda  the 
poem  appears  with  the  following  _  sentences 
prefixed:  'There  was  a  certain  period  of  my 
life  that  my  spirit  was  broke  by  repeated  losses 
tnd  disasters,  which  threatened,  and.  indeed 


effected,  the  utter  ruin  of  my  fortune.  My 
body,  too,  was  attacked  by  that  most  dreadful 
disorder,  a  hypochondria  or  confirmed  melan- 
choly. #  In  this  wretched  state,  the  recollection 
of  which  makes  me  yet  shudder.  I  hung  my 
harp  on  the  willow-trees,  except  in  some  lucid 
intervals,  in. one  of  which  I  composed  the  fol- 
lowing.' 

Page  70,  /  13.  This  poem  was  addressed  to 
Andrew  Aitken,  son  of  the  poet's  patron,  Robert 
Aitken,  to  whom  the  '  Cotter's  Saturday  Night ' 
was  dedicated.  Mr.  Chambers  states  that 
Mr.  Niven  of  Kilbride  always  alleged  that  the 
'  Epistle  '  was  originally  addressed  to  him. 

Page  70,  /  22,  col.  2.  After  this  line,  in  a 
copy  of  the  poem  in  Burns'  handwriting,  the 
following  stanza  occurs : — 

If  ye  h'ae  made  a  step  aside, 

Some  hap  mistake  oterta'en  you, 
Yet  still  keep  up  a  decent  pride, 

And  ne'er  o'er  far'clemean  you. 
Time  comes  wi'  kind  oblivious  shade, 

And  daily  darker  sets  it ; 
And  if  nae  mair  mistakes  are  made, 

The  world  soon  forgets  it. 

Page  71.  Burns  when  meditating  emigration 
to  the  West  Indies  was  in  gloomy  mood 
enough,  and  in  this  ode,  although  in  it  he 
mocks  at.  fortune,  there  are  not  wanting  touches 
of  bitterness,  which  are  all  the  more  -effective 
from  the  prevalent  lightness  and  gaiety  by 
which  they  are  surrounded. 

Page  71,  /  29.      Var. 

Our  billle,  Itob,  has  ta'en  a  jink. 
Page  71,  /  35.     Var. 

He's  canter't  to  anither  shore. 

Page  71,  /'38.     Var. 

An*  pray  kind  Fortune  to  redress  him. 

Page  71,  1 39.     Vap. 

•Twill  gar  hor  poor,  auld  heart,  1  fear. 

Page  71,  /  20,  col.2;    "Var. 

An*  scarce  a  bellyfu'  '0  drummock. 

Page  71,  /  37,  col.  2.     Var. 

Then  fare  you  weel,  my  rhymin  blllie! 

Page  71,  /  7.  This  poem  did  not  appear  in 
the  first  edition. 

Page  72.  In  the  '  Caledonian  Mercury/  of 
date  20th  December,i786,in  which  the 'Haggis' 
was  printed,  apparently  for  the  first  time,  the 
concluding  stanza  appears  as -follows: — 

Ye  Pow'cs  wha  pie  us  a' that's  glide, 

Still  bless  auld  Caledonia's  brood 

\\i'  great  John  Barleycorn  'a  heart's  blude, 

In  stowps  or  lagsries  ; 
An'  on  our  board  that  king  of  food, . 

A  glorious  Ilaggice. 

Page  72.  The  dedication  to  Gavin  Hamilton, 
the  poet  s  friend  and  patrort,  did  not,  as  might 
have  been  expected,  open  the  volume  published 
at  Kilmarnock.  It,  however,  finds  its  place  in 
the  body  of  the  work. 


NOTES. 


289 


Page  74,  /  30.  The  '  lady '  referred  to  in  this 
line  was,  Mr.  Chambers  informs  us,  a  village 
belle.  He  adds  that  her  name  was  well  known 
in  Mauchline. 

Page  75-  This  Address  was  written  in  Edin- 
burgh in  1786. 

Page  75,  /  29.  '  Fair  Burnet '  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  Lord  Monbo'ddo.  Burns'  admiration  for 
her  was  intense. 

Page  75.  '  The  Epistle  to  John  Lapraik  was 
produced,'  says  Gilbert  Burns,  '  exactly  on  the 
occasion  described  by  the  author.  It  was  at 
one  of  these  rockings  at  our  house,  when  we 
had  twelve  or  fifteen  young  people  with  their 
rocks,  that  Lapraik's  song,  beginning, "  When  I 
upon  thy  bosom  lean,"  was  sung,  and  we  were 
informed  who  was  the  author.  Upon  this  Robert 
wrote  his  first  epistle  to  Lapraik  ;  and  his  second 
was  in  reply  to  his  answer.' 

Page  78.  William  Simpson  was  the  school- 
master of  Ochiltree  parish. 

Page  80.  The  postscript  to  the  foregoing 
'  Epistle '  may  be  considered  as  a  pendant  to 
1  TheTwa  Herds,'  which  was  making  a  noise  in 
Ayrshire  at  the  time. 

Page  81.  John  Rankine  lived  at  Adam-hill, 
in  Ayrshire  ;  he  was  a  man  of  much  humour, 
and  was  one  of  Burns'  earliest  friends. 

Page  81,  /  4.  Atertain  humorous  dream  of 
his  was.  then  making  noise  in  the  country-side. 
R.   B.     Of  this  dream  the  substance  is  thus 

related  by  Allan  Cunningham.     '  Lord  K 

was  in  the  habit  of  calling  his  familiar  acquaint- 
ances "brutes"  or  "damned  brutes."  One  day 
meeting  Rankine,  his  lordship  said,  "  Brute, 
are  ye  dumb  ?  have  ye  no  queer  story  to  tell  us  ?  " 
"I  have  nae  story,"  said  Rankine,  "but  last 
night  I  had  an  odd  dream."  "Out  with  it, 
by  all  means,"  said  the  other.  "A  weel, 
ye  see,"  said  Rankine,  "I  dreamed  that  I 
was  dead,  and  that  for  keeping  other  than  good 
company  on  earth,  I  was  damned.  When  I 
knocked  at  hell-'door,  wha  should  open  it  but 
the  deil ;  he  was  in  a  rough  humour,  and  said, 
'Wha  may  you  be,  and  what's  your  name?' 
'  My  name,'  quoth  I,  ■  is  John  Rankine,  and  my 
dwelling-place  was  Adam-hill.'     'Giwa*  wi',' 

Juoth  Satan,  '  ye  canna  be  here  ;   yer  ane  of 
,ord  K 's  damned  brutes  :  Hell's  fou  o'  them 

already  !'."'  This  sharp  rebuke,  it  is  said, 
polished  for  the  future  his  lordship's  speech. 
The  trick  alluded  to  in  the  same  line  was  Ran- 
kine's  making  tipsy  one  of  the  'unco  gude.' 

Page  81,  /2<j.  A  song  he  had  promised  the 
author. 

Page  82.  Friar's  Carse  was  the  estate  of 
Captain  Riddel,  of  Glenriddel,  beautifully  situ- 
ated on  the  banks  of  the  Nith,  near  Ellisland. 
The  Hermitage  was  a  decorated  cottage,  which 
Ihe  proprietor  had  erected. 


PageS2,  1 6.  In  a  copy  printed  in  the  Gen- 
tleman's Magazine  the  following  couplet  occurs 
here: — 

Day— how  rapid  in  its  flight ! 

Day— how  few  must  see  the  night ! 

Page  82,  /  10.     Var. 

Beneath  thy  morning  sun  advance.  Gent's.  Mag. 
Page  82,  1 2$.   Var. 

When  thy  shades  of  ev'ning  close.     Gent's.  Mag. 
Page  82,  /  33.   Var. 

genuine  estimate 
Say  the  criterion  of  their  fate 
The  important  query  of  their  state, 
Is  not,  &c.    Gent's.  Mag. 

Page  82,  /  36.   Var. 

ebb  or  flow? 
Wert  thou  cottager  or  king, 
Peer  or  peasant  ?— No  such  tiling. 
Tell  them,  &c»    Gait's.  Mag. 

Page  82,  /  22,  col  2.      Var. 

Fame,  a  restless  airy  dream.    Gent's.  Mag. 
Page  82,  /  23,  col  2;     Var. 

Pleasures,  insects  on  the  wing ; 

Round  peace,  the  tenderest  flower  of  spring. 
Gent's.  Mtig. 

Page  82,  /  26,  col  2.    Var. 

Make  the  butterflies  their  own.    Gent's.  Mag. 
Page  82,  /  31,  col  2.    Var*. 

But  thy  utmost  duty  done.    Gent's.  Mag. 
Page  82,742,  col  2.   Var. 

Quod  the  Bedesman  on  Nitheslde.     Gent's.  Mag. 

Page  83.  The  subject  of  this  ode  was  the 
widow  of  Richard  Oswald,  Esq.  ofAuchincruive. 
She  died  December  6,  1788.  Burns  himself 
states  the  cause  of  its  composition.  '  In 
January  last,  on  my  road  to  Ayrshire,  I  had  to 
put  up  at  Bailie  Whigham's,  in  Sanquhar,  the 
only  tolerable  inn  in  the  place.  The  frost  was 
keen,  and  the  grim  evening  and  howling  wind 
were  ushering  in  a  night  of  snow  and  drift. 
My  horse  and  I  were  both  much  fatigued  by 
the  labours  of  the  day ;  and  just  as  my  friend 
the  Bailie  and  I  were  bidding  defiance  to  the 
storm,  over  a  smoking  bowl,  in  wheels  the 
funereal  pageantry  of  the  late  Mrs.  Oswald,  and 
poor  I  am  forced  to  brave  all  the  terrors  of  the 
tempestuous  night,  and  jade  my  horse — my 
young  favourite  horse,  whom  I  had  just  christ- 
ened Pegasus— farther  on  through  the  wildest 
hills  and  moors  of  Ayrshire  to  the*  next  inn. 
The  powers  of  poetry  and  prose  sink  under  me 
when  I  would  describe  what  I  felt.  Suffice  it 
to  say,  that  when  a  good  fire  at  New  Cumnock 
had  so  far  recovered  my  frozen  sinews,  I  sat 
down  and  wrote  the  enclosed  ode.'  Being  dead, 
the  poor  lady  could  hardly  be  held  responsible 
for  disturbing  the  Poet's  potations  with  his 
friend  the  Bailie ! 

Page  83.  In  February,  1791,  Burns  wrote 
respecting  this  poem  :  '  The  Elegy  on  Cap- 
tain Henderson  is  a  tribute  to  the  memory 
of  a  man  I  loved  much.  ...  As  almost  all  my 
religous  tenets  originate  from  my  heart,  I  am 


2go 


NOTES. 


wonderfully  pleased  with  the  idea  that  I  can 
still  keep  up  a  tender  intercourse  with  the 
dearly  beloved  friend,  or  still  more  dearly 
beloved  mistress,  who  is  gone  to  the  world  of 
spirits.' 

Page  84.  Readers  curious  in  the  transmis- 
sion of  poetic  ideas  may  amuse  themselves 
by  comparing  this  epitaph  with  Wordsworth's 
Poet's  Epitaph, 

Page  85.  Writing  to  Mrs.  Graham,  of  Fintry, 
Bums  says,  'Whether  it  is  that  the  story, 
of  our  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  has  a  peculiar 
effect  on  the  feelings  of  a  poet,  or  whether 
I  have  in  the  enclosed  ballad  succeeded  beyond 
my  usual  poetic  success,  I  know  not ;  but  it  has 
pleased  me  beyond  any  effort  of  my  muse  for  a 
good  while  past :  on  that  account  I  enclose  it 
particularly  to  you.' 

Page  86.  Robert  Graham,  Esq.  of  Fintry, 
was  one  of  the  Commissioners  of  Excise. 
Burns  met  him  at  the  house  of  the  Duke 
of  Athole.  The  *  Epistle '  -  was  the  poet's 
earliest  attempt  in  the  manner  of  Pope.  It  has 
its  merits,  of  course  ;  but  it  lacks  the  fire,  ease, 
and  sweetness  of  his  earlier  Epistles  to  Lapraik, 
Smith,  and  others. 

Page  88,  /  10.  '  By  a  fall,  not  from  my  horse, 
but  with  my  horse,  I  have  been  a  cripple  some 
time.'  Burns  to  Mrs.  Du.nl op,  7th  February, 
1 791. 

Page  88,  in.     Var. 
The  peopled  fold  thy  kindly  care  have  found  ; 
The  horned  bull  tremendous  spurns  the  ground ; 
The  lowly  lion  has  enough  and  more, — 
The  forest  trembles  at  his  very  roar. 

,Page  88,  /  14.     Var. 
The  puny  wasp,  victorious,  guards  his  cell. 

Page  88,  /  21.      Var. 
Even  sjlly  women  have  defensive  arts— 
Their  eyes,  their  tongues,  and  nameless  other  parts. 

Page  88,  /  29.      Var. 

No  claws  to  dig,  his  dreacleu  sight  to  shun. 

Page  88,  /31.     Var. 
No  nerves  olfactory,  tfuc  to  Mammon's  fool ; 
Or  grunting  grub,  sagacious,  evil's  root; 
Or  grunting  sage,  to  grub  all-evil's  root. 

Page  88,  /  39.  Alexander  Munro,  Professor 
of  Anatomy  in  the  University  of  Edinburgh. 

Page  88,  /  46.     Var. 

The  hapless  Poet  flounces  on  through  life. 

Page  89,  /  31.  James,  Earl  of  Glencairn. 
See  succeeding  poem. 

Page  89.  This  nobleman,  for  whom  the  Poet 
had  a  deep  respect,  died  at  Falmouth,  in 
his  forty-second,  year.  Burns  wore  mourning 
for  the  Earl,  and  designed  to  attend  his  funeral 
in  Ayrshire.  He  enclosed  the  poem  to  Lady 
Elizabeth  Cunningham,  sister  of  the  deceased 
nobleman. 


Page  91.  'When  my  father/  writes  Gil- 
bert Burns,  'feued  his  little  property  near 
Alloway  Kirk,  the  wall  of  the  churchyard  had 
gone  to  ruin,  and  cattle  had  free  liberty  of 
pasture  in  it.  .  My  father,  with  two  or  three 
other  neighbours,  joined  in  an  application  to 
the  town  council  of  Ayr,  who  were  superiors  of 
the  adjoining  land,  for  liberty  to  rebuild  it,  and 
raised  by  subscription  a  sum  for  enclosing  this 
ancient  cemetery  with  a  wall ;  hence  he  came 
to  consider  itas  his  burial-place,  and  we  learned 
that  reverence  for  it  people  generally  have  for 
the  burial-place  of  their  ancestors.  My  brother 
was  living  at  Ellisland,  when  Captain  Grose, 
on  his  peregrinations  through  Scotland,  stayed 
some  time  at  Carse  House,  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, with  Captain  Robert  Riddel,  of  Glen- 
riddel,  a  particular  friend  of  my  brother's. 
The  Antiquarian  and  the  Poet  were  "unco 
pack  and  thick  thegither."  Robert  requested 
of  Captain  Grose,  when  he  should  come  to 
Ayrshire,  that  he  would  make  a  drawing  of 
Alloway  Kirk,  as  it  was  the  burial-place  of  his 
father,  and  where  he  himself  had  a  sort  of 
claim  to  lay  down  his  bones  when  they  should 
be  no  longer  serviceable  to  him  ;  and  added,  by 
way  of  encouragemeht,  that  it  was  the  scene  of 
many  a  good  story  of  witches  and  apparitions, 
of  which  he  knew  the  Captain  was  very  fond. 
The  Captain  agreed  to  the  request,  provided 
the  Poet  would  furnish  a  witch  story,  to  be 
printed  along  with  it.  "Tarn  o'  Shanter"'was 
produced  on  this  occasion,  and  was  first  pub- 
lished in  Grose's  "Antiquities  of  Scotland.'" 
The  following  letter,  sent  by  Burns  to  Captain 
Grose,  deals  with  the  witch  stories  that  clustered 
round  Alloway  Kirk. 

'Among  the  many  witch  stories  I  have  heard 
relating  to  Alloway  Kirk,  I  distinctly  remember 
only  two  or  three. 

'  Upon  a  stormy  night,  amid  whistling  squalls 
of  wind  and  bitter  blasts  of  hail — in  short,  on 
such  a  night  as  the  devil  would  choose  to  take 
the  air  in— a  farmer,  or  a  farmer's  servant,  was 
plodding  and  plashing  homeward  with  his 
plough-irons  on  his  shoulder,  having  been 
getting  some  repairs  on  them  at  a  neighbouring 
smithy.  His  way  lay  by  the  Kirk  of  Alloway. 
.and  being  rather  on  the  anxious  look-out  in 
approaching  a  place  so  well  known  to  be  a 
favourite  haunt  of  the  devil,  and  the  devil's 
friends  and  emissaries,  he  was  struck  aghast  by 
discovering,  through  the  horrors  of  the  storm 
and  stormy  night,  a  light,  which,  on  his  nearer 
approach,  plainly  showed  itself  to  proceed  from 
the  haunted  edifice.  Whether  he  had  been 
fortified  from  above  on  his  devout  supplication, 
as  is  customary  with  people  when,  they  suspect 
the  immediate  presence  of  Satan,  or  whether, 
according  to  another  custom,  he  had  got 
courageously  drunk  at  the  smithy,  I  wiil  not 
pretend  to  determine  ;  but  so  it  was,  that  he 
ventured  to  go  up  to— nay,  into — .J".C  very  Kirk. 
As  luck  would  have  it,  his  temerity  came  off 
unpunished. 

'The  members  of  the  infernal  junto  were  all 
out  on  some  midnight  busmen  or  other",  and  he 


NOTES. 


291 


saw  nothing  but  a  kind  of  kettle  or  caldron, 
depending  from  the  roof,  over  the  fire,  simmering 
some  heads  of  unchristened  children,  limbs  of 
executed  malefactors,  &c.  for  the  business  of  the 
night.  It  was  in  for  a  penny,  in  for  a  pound, 
with  the  hortesf  ploughman  ;  so,  without  cere- 
mony, he  unhooked  the  caldron  from  off  the 
fire,  and  pouring  out  its  damnable  ingredients, 
inverted  it  on  his  head,  and  carried  it  fairly 
home,  where  it  remained  long  in  the  family,  a 
living  evidence  of  the  truth  of  the  story. 

'Another  story,  which  I  can  prove  to  be  equally 
authentic,  was  as  follows  : — 

'  On  a  market-day,  in  the  town  of  Ayr,  a  farmer 
from  Carrick,  and  consequently  whose  way  lay 
by  the  very  gate  of  Alloway  Kirk-yard,  in  order 
to  cross  the  river  Doon  at  the  old  bridge,  which 
is  about  two  or  three  hundred  yards  farther  on 
than  the  said  gate,  had  been  detained  by  his  busi- 
ness, till  by  the  time  he  reached  Alloway  it  was 
the  wizard  hour,  between  night  and  morning. 

4  Though  he  was  terrified  with  a  blaze  stream- 
ing from  the  Kirk,  yet  as  it  is  a  well  known  fact, 
that  to  turn  back  on  these  occasions  is  running 
by  far  the  greatest  risk  of  mischief,  he  prudently 
advanced  on  his  road.  When  he  had  reached 
the  gate  of  the  Kirk-yard,  he  was  surprised  and 
entertained,  through  the  ribs  and  arches  of  an 
old  Gothic  window,  which  still  faces  the  high- 
way, to  see  a  dance  of  witches  merrily  footing 
it  round  their  old  sooty  blackguard  master,  who 
was  keeping  them  all  alive  with  the  power  of  his 
1  bagpipe.  The  farmer,  stopping  his  horse  to  ob- 
serve them  a  little,  could  plainly  descry  the  faces 
of  many  of  his  acquaintance  and  neighbourhood. 
How  the  gentleman  was  dressed,  tradition  does 
not  say,  but  that  the  ladies  were  all  in  their 
smocks ;  and  one  of  them  happening  unluckily 
to  have  a  smock  which  was  considerably  too 
short  to  answer  all  the  purposes  of  that  piece  of 
dress,  our  farmer  was  so  tickled  that  he  involun- 
tarily burst  out,  with  a  loud  laugh,"  Weel  looppen 
Maggy  wi'  the  short  sark  ! "  and,  recollecting 
himself,  instantly  spurred  his  horse  to  the  top  of 
his  speed.  I  need  not  mention  the  universally 
known  fact,  that  no  diabolical  power  can  pursue 
you  beyond  the  middle  of  a  running  stream. 
Lucky«it  was  for  the  poor  farmer  that  the  river 
Doon  was  so  near,  for  notwithstanding  the  speed 
of  his  horse,  which  was  a  good  one,  against,  he 
reached  the  middle  of  the  arch  of  the  bridge, 
and  consequently  the  middle  of  the  stream,  the 
pursuing,  vengeful  hags  were  so  close  at  his  heels, 
that  one  of  them  actually  sprafig  to  seize  him  : 
but  it  was  too  late  ;  nothing  was  on  her  side  of 
the  stream  but  the  horse's  tail, which  immediately 
gave  way  at  her  infernal  grip,  as  if  blasted  by  a 
stroke  of  lightning  ;  but  the  farmer  was  beyond 
her  reach.  However,  the  unsightly,  tailless  con- 
dition of  the  vigorous  steed  was,  to  the  last  hours 
of  the  noble  creature's  life,  an  awful  warning  to 
the  Carrick  farmers  not  to  stay  too  late  in  Ayr 
markets.'  v 

This  letter  is  interesting,  as  showing  the  actual 
body  of  tradition  on  which  Burns  had  to  work — 
the  soil  out  pf  which  the  consummate  poem  grew 
like  a  .flower.     And  it  is  worthy  of  notice  also 


how,  out  of  the  letter,  some  of  the  best  things  in 
the  poem  have  come :  '  such  a  night  as  the 
devil  would  choose  to  take  the  air  in '  being, 
for  instance,  the  suggestion  of  the  couplet— 

That  night  a  child  might  understand 
The  Deil  had  business  on  his  hand. 

It  is  pleasant  to  know  that  Burns  thought  well  of 
'Tarn  o'  Shanter.' 

To  Mrs.  Dunlop  he  wrote  on  the  nth  April, 
1791 : — *  On  Saturday  morning  last  Mrs.  Burns 
made  me  a  present  of  k  fine  boy,  rather  stouten 
but  not  so  handsome  as  your  godson  was  at  his 
time  of  life.  Indeed,  I  look  on  your  little  name- 
sake to  be  my  ckef-a"  ceuvrc  in  that  species  of 
manufacture,  as  I  look  on  "Tarn  o'  Shanter" 
to  be  my^  standard  performance  in  the  poetical 
line.  'Tis  true,  both  the  one  and  the  other  dis- 
cover a  spice  of  roguish  waggery,  that  might, 
perhaps,  be  as  well  spared  ;  but  then  they  also 
show,  in  my  opinion,  a  force  of  genius,  and  a 
finishing  polish,  that  I  despair  of  ever  excelling.' 

Page  93,  /  46.  The  following  lines  originally 
occurred  here  :— 

Three  lawyers?  tongues  turned  inside  out, 
WI'  lies  seamed,  like  a  beggar's  clout ; 
Three  priests'  hearts  rotten,  black  as  muck, 
Lay  stinking,  vile,  in  every  neuk. 

They  were  omitted  at  the  suggestion  of  Lord 
Woodhouselee. 

Page  95,  /8.  It  is  a  well-known  fact,  that 
witches,  or  any  evil  spirits,  have  no  power  to 
follow  a  poor  wight  any  further  than  the  middle 
of  the  next  running  stream.  It  may  be  proper 
likewise  to  mention  to  the  benighted  traveller 
that  when  he  falls  in  with  bogles,  whatever 
•  danger  may  be  in  his  going  forward,  there  is 
much  more  hazard  in  turning  back.     R.  B. 

Page  95,  /  26.  '  Tarn  o'  Shanter,'  as  already 
stated,  appeared  first  in  Captain  Grose's  'An- 
tiquities of  Scctland.'  To  the  poem  the  editor 
appended  the  following  note  :  '  To  my  ingenious 
friend,  Mr.  Robert  Burns,  I  have  been  seriously 
obligated  ;  for  he  was  not  only  at  the  pains  of 
making  out  what  was  most  worthy  of  notice  in 
Ayrshire,  the  county  honoured  by  his  birth,  but 
he  also  wrote  expressly  for  this  work  the  pretty 
tale  annexed  to  Alloway  Church.'  Grose's  book 
appeared  at  the  close  of  April,  1 791,  and  he  died 
in  Dublin  shortly  after. 

Page  95.  For  information  respecting  Captain 
Grose's  intimacy  withBurns  see  preceding  note. 

Page  95,  I  27.  Vide  his  'Antiquities  of  Scot- 
land/    R   B. 

Page  96,  /  8.  Vide  his  '  Treatise  on  Ancient 
Armour  and  Weapons.'    R.  B. 

Page  96,  /  27.    '  Var. 

Seek,  mangled  innocent,  some  wonted  form ! 

That  wonted  form,  alas  !  thy  dying  bed  ; 

The  sheltering  rushes  whistling  o'er  thy  head, 
The  cold  earth  with  thy  blood-stain'd  bosom  warm. 
Perhaps  a  mother's  anguish  adds  its  woe ; 

The  playful  pair  cro-.>cl  fondly  by  thy  tide; 

Ah  !  helpless  nurslings,  who  will  now  provide 
That  life  a  mother  only  can  be&tow  ? 


292 


NOTES. 


Page  g6,  1 34.     Var. 

And  curse  the  ruthless  wretch,  and  mourn  thy  hapless 
fate. 

The  changes  in  this  poem  were  made  on  the 
suggestion  of  Dr.  Gregory,  to  whom  the  Poet 
had  sent  a  copy. 

Page  97.  This  poem  was  addressed  to  the 
daughter  of  Mr.  William  Cruikshank,  one  of 
the  masters  of  the  High  School  of  Edinburgh. 

Page  98.  Bruar  Falls,  in  Athol,  are  exceed- 
ingly picturesque  and  beautiful,  but  their  effect 
is  much  impaired  by  the  want  of  trees  and  shrubs. 
R.  B. 

Page  98,  /  19,  col  2.     Var. 

The  bairdie,  music's  youngest  child. 

Page  99,  I  r\,  col  -z.  Mr.  Walker  in  his:  letter 
to  Dr.  Currie,  describing  the  impression  Burns 
made  at  Blair,  says,  '  The  Duke's  fine  family 
attracted  much  of  his  admiration  ;  he  drank 
their  health  as  honest  men  and  bonie  lasses, 
an  idea  which  was  much  applauded  by  the 
company,  and  with,  which  he  has  very  felici- 
tously closed  his  poem.' 

Page  99.  The  occasion  of  the  satire  was 
as  follows.  In  1786  Dr.  Wm.  McGill,  one  of 
the  ministers  of  Ayr,  published  an  essay  on 
'The  Death  of  Jesus  Christ,'  which  was  de- 
nounced as  heterodbx  by  Dr.  Wm.  Peebles,  of 
Newton-upon-Ayr,  in  a  sermon  preached  by 
him  November  5th,  1788.  Dr.  McGill  pub- 
lished a  defence,  and  the  case  came  before  the 
Ayr  presbytery,  and  finally  before  the  synod -of 
Glasgow  and  Ayr.  In  August,  1789,  Burns 
wrote  to  Mr.  Logan :  '  I  have,  as  you  will 
shortly  see,  finished  the  "  Kirk's  Alarm  ; "  but 
now  that  it  is  done,  and  that  I  have  laughed 
once  or  twice  at  the  conceits  of  some  of  the 
stanzas,  I  am  determined  not  to  let  it  get  into 
the  public  :  so  I  send  you  this  copy,  the  first  I 
have  sent  to  Ayrshire,  except  some  few  of  the 
stanzas,  which  I  wrote  off  in  embryo  for  Gavin 
Hamilton,  under  the  express  provision  and 
request  that  you  will  only  read  it  to  a  few  of 
us,  and  do  not  on  any  account  give,  or  permit  to 
be  taken,  any  copy  of  the  ballad.'  With  refe- 
rence to  the  ballad  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Graham  of 
Fintry :  '  I  laughed  myself  at  some  conceits  in 
it,  though  I  am  convinced  in  my  conscience 
that  there  are  a  good  many  heavy  stanzas  in  it 
too.' 

Page  gg,  /13.     Var. 

Brother  Scots,  brother  Scots,  wha  believe  in  John 
Knox. 

Page  99,  /  17.     Dr.  McGill. 

Page  gg,  1 1%.      Var. 

To  strike  wicked  writers  wi'  terror. 

Page  99,  /23.  John  Ballantyne,  Esq.  Provost 
of  Ayr. 

Page  99,  /  24.    Mr.  Robert  Aitken. 

Page  99,  1 25.    Rev.  Dr.  Wm.  Dalrympfe. 


Page  99,  /  29.  Rev.  John  Russel :  see  '  Holy 
Fair.' 

Page  99,  /  33.  Rev.  James  Mackinlay :  see 
'Ordination.' 

Page  100,  1 1.  Rev.  Alexander  Moodie  :  see 
'The  Twa  Herds.' 

Page  100,  Is-     Rev.  Mr.  Auld. 

Page  100,  16.     Mr.  Gavin  Hamilton. 

Page  100,  Iq.     Mr.  Grant,  Ochiltree. 

Page  100,  /  13.   Mr.  Young,  Cumnock. 

Page  100,  /  17.  Rev.  Dr  Wm.  Peebles.  He 
had  written  a  poem  which  contained  a  ridiculous 
line  : — 

And  bound  in  Liberty's  endearing  chain. 

Page  100,  /  21.  Dr.  Andrew  Mitchell, 
Monkton. 

Page  ioo,  /  25    Rev.  Stephen  Young,  Barr. 

Page  100,  /  29.  Rev.  George  Smith,  Galston  : 
see  '  Holy  Fair.' 

Page  100,  /  33. 
kirk. 


Rev.  John  Shepherd,  Muir- 


Page  100,  /  37.      Mr.   William  Fisher,  the 
'  Holy  Willie '  of  the  famous  satire. 

Page  102,  /  2.     Var. 

The  eye  with  pleasure  and  amazement  fills 

Page  102.  Miss  Susan  Dunlop,  daughter  of 
Mr.  Dunlop,  married  a  French  gentleman 
named  Henri.  The  young  coupler'were  living 
at  Loudon  Castle  when  M.  Henri  died,  leaving 
his  wife  pregnant.  The  verses  were  written  on 
the  birth  of  a  son  and  heir.  Mrs.  Dunlop  com- 
municated the  intelligence  to  Burns,  and  received 
the  following  letter  in  return  :  '  "As  cold  waters 
to  a  thirsty  soul,  so  is  good  news  from  a  far 
country  !  "  Fate  has  long  owed  me  a  letter  of 
good  news  from  you,  in  return  for  the  many 
tidings  of  sorrow  which  I  have  received.  In 
this  instance  I  most  cordially  obey  the  Apostle' 
— "  Rejoice  with  them  that  do  rejoice."  For  me 
to  sing  for  joy  is  no  new  thing  ;  but  to  preach 
for  joy,  as  I  have  done  in  the  commencement 
of  this  epistle,  is  a  pitch  of  extravagant  rapture 
to  which  I  never  rose  before.  I  read  your  letter 
—I  .literally  jumped  for  joy:  how  could  such 
a  mercurial  creature  as  a  poet  lumpishly  keep 
his  seat  on  the  receipt  of  the  best  news  from  his 
best  friend  ?  I  seized  my  gilt-headed  Wangee 
rod,  an  instrument  indispensably  necessary,  in 
my  left  hand,  in  the  moment  of  inspiration  and 
rapture  ;  and  stride,  stride — quick  and  quicker 
— out  skipped  I  among  the  blooming  banks  of 
Nith,  to  muse  over  my  joy  by  retail.  To  keep 
within  the  bounds  of  prose  was  impossible. '  M  r. 
Chambers  traces  the  future  history  of  Mrs. 
Henri  and  her  son :  '  In  a  subsequent  letter 
Burns  deplores  her  (Mrs.  Henri's)  dangerous 
and  distressing  situation  in  France,  exposed  to 
the  tumults  of  the  Revolution ;  and  he  has  soon 
after  occasion  to  condole  with  his  venerable 
friend  on  the  death  of  her  daughter  in  a  foreign 


NOTES. 


293 


land.  When  this  sad  event  took  place,  the 
orphan  child  fell  under  the  immediate  care  of 
his  paternal  grandfather,  who,  however,  was 
soon  obliged  to  take  refuge  in  Switzerland, 
leaving  the  infant  behind  him.  Years  passed, 
he  and  the  Scotch  friends  of  the  child  heard 
nothing  of  it,  and  concluded  that  it  was  lost. 
At  length,  when  the  elder  Henri  was  enabled  to 
return  to  his  ancestral  domains,  he  had  the  un- 
speakable satisfaction  of  finding  that  his  grand- 
son and  heir  was  alive  and  well,  having  never 
been  removed  from  the  place.  The  child  had 
been  protected  and  reared  with  the  greatest 
care  by  a  worthy  female  named  Mademoiselle 
Susette,  formerly  a  domestic  in  the  family. 
This  excellent  person  had  even  contriyed, 
through  all  the  leyelling  violence  of  the  inter- 
vening period,  to  preserve  in  her  young  charge 
the  feeling  appropriate  to  his  rank.  Though 
absolutely  indebted  to  her  industry  for  his  bread, 
she  had  caused  him  always  to  be  seated  by  him- 
self at  table  and  regularly  waited  on,  so  that  the 
otherwise  plebeian  circumstances  in  which  he 
lived  did  not  greatly  affect  him.  The  subject 
of  Burns'  stanzas  was,  a  very  kw  years  ago, 
proprietor  of  the  family  estates;  and  it  is  agree- 
able to  add  that  Mademoiselle  Susette  then 
lived  in  his  paternal  mansion,  in  the  enjoyment 
of  that  grateful  respect  to  which  her  fidelity  and 
discretion  so  eminently  entitled  her.* 

Page  103.  This  epistle  was  prefixed  to  the 
edition  of  Sillar's  poems,  published  in  Kilmar- 
nock in  1789. 

Page  \c\.  The  'Inventory' was  addressed 
to  Mr.  Aitken  of  Ayr,  surveyor  of  taxes  for  the 
district  It  was  first  .printed  in  the  Liverpool 
edition  of  the  poems. 

.  Page  105.  '  As  the  authentic  prose  history  of 
the  Whistle  is  curious/  writes  Burns,  '  I  shall 
here  give  it : — In  the  train  of  Anne  of  Den- 
mark/ when  she  came  to  Scotland  with  our 
James  the  Sixth,  there  came  over  also  a  Danish 
gentleman  of  gigantic  stature  and  great  prowess, 
and  a  matchless  champion  of  Bacchus.  He 
had  a  little  ebony  whistle,  which  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  orgies  he  laid,  on  the  table  ; 
and  whoever  was  last  able  to  blow  it,  everybody 
else  being  disabled  by  the  potency  of  the  bottle, 
was  to  carry  off  the  whistle  as  a  trophy  of 
victory.  The  Dane  produced  credentials  of  his 
victories,  without  a  single  defeat,  at  the  courts 
of  Copenhagen,  Stockholm,  Moscow.  Warsaw, 
and  several  of  the  petty  courts  in  Germany ; 
and  challenged  the  Scots'  Bacchanalians  to  the 
alternative  of  trying  his  prowess,  or  else 
acknowledging  their  inferiority.  After  many 
overthrows  on  the  part  of  the  Scots,  the  Dane 
was  encountered  by  Sir  Robert  Lawrie  of 
Maxwelton,  ancestor  of  the  present  worthy 
baronet  of  that  name,  who  after  three  days' 
and  three  nights'  hard  contest,  left  the  Scandi- 
navian under  the  table, 

And  blew  on  the  whistle  hi*  requiem  shrill. 
Sir  Walter,  son  to  Sir  Robert  before  mentioned, 
afterwards  lost  the  whistle  to  Walter  Riddel  of 


Glenriddel,  who  had  married  a  sister  of  Sir 
Walter's.  On  Friday,  the  16th  October,  1690, 
at  Friar's  Carse,  the  whistle  was  once  more 
contended  for,  as  related  in  the  ballad,  by  the 
present  Sir  Robert  Lawrie  of  Maxwelton ; 
Robert  Riddel,  Esq.  of  Glenriddel,  lineal  de- 
scendant and  representative  of  Walter  Riddel, 
who  won  the  whistle,  and  in  whose  family  it 
had  continued  ;  and  Alexander  Ferguson,  Esq. 
of  Craigdarroch,  likewise  descended  of  the 
great  Sir  Robert;  which  last  gentleman  carried 
off  the  hard-won  honours  of  the  field.  R.  B.' 
Oddly  enough,  on  the  16th  October,  1789,  we 
have  a  letter  from  Bums  addressed  to  Captain 
Riddel,  referring  to  the  Bacchanalian  contest. 
'Big  with  the  idea  of  this  important  day  at 
Friar's  Carse,  I  have  watched  the  elements  and 
skies  in  the  full  persuasion  that  they  would' 
announce  it  to  the  astonished  world  by  some 
phenomena  of  terrific  portent.  Yesternight, 
till  a  very  late  hour,  did  I  wait  with  anxious 
horror  for  the  appearance  of  some  comet  firing 
half  the  sky,  or  aerial  armies  of  sanguinary 
Scandinavians  darting  athwart  the  startled 
heaven,  rapid  as  the  ragged  lightning,  and 
horrid  as  the  convulsions  of  nature  that  bury 
nations. 

'The  elements,  however,  seem  to  take  the 
matter  very  quietly :  they  did  not  even  usher 
in  the  morning  with  triple  suns  and  a  shower  of 
blood,  symbolical  of  the  three  potent  heroes 
and  the  mighty  claret-shed  of  the  day.  For 
me,  as  Thomson  in  his  Winter  says  of  the 
storm,  I  shall  "  Hear  astonished,  and  astonished 
sing" 

The  whistle  and  the  man  :  I  sing 

The  man  that  won  the  whistle.' 

And  he  concludes  by  wishing  that  the  cap. 
tain's  head  'may  be  crowned  by  laurels  to- 
night, and  free  from  aches  to-morrow.'  Burns 
,  in  his  note  is  supposed  to  have  made  a  mistake 
of  a  year.  He  says  the  whistle  was  contended 
for  on   Friday,  the  16th  October,  1790;  but  in 

1789  the  16th  October  fell  on  a  Friday,  and  in 

1790  it  fell  on  a  Saturday. 

It  is  not  quite  clear  what  share  the  poet  took 
in  the  fray.  Allan  Cunningham  states  that  the. 
whistle  was  contended  for  '  in  the  dining-room" 
of  Friar's  Carse  in  Burns'  presence,  who  drank 
bottle  after  bottle  with  the  competitors,  and 
seemed  disposed  to  take  up  the  conqueror.' 
On  the  other  hand,  Mr.  Hunter  of  Cockrune, 
in  the  parish  of  Closeburn,  reports  that  he  has 
a  perfect  recollection  of  the  whole  affair.  He 
states  that  '  Burns  was  present  the  whole 
evening.  He  was  invited  to  join  the  party  to 
see  that  the  gentlemen  drank  fair,  and  to  com- 
memorate the  day  by  writing  a  song.  I  recol- 
lect well  that,  when  the  dinner  was  over,  Burns 
quitted  the  table,  and  went  to  a  table  in  the 
same  room,  that  was  placed  in  a  window  that 
looked  south-east ;  and  there  he  sat  down  for 
the  night.  I  placed  before  him  a  bottle  of  rum,* 
and  another  of  brandy,  which  he  did  not  finish, 
but  left  a  good  deal  of  each  when  he  rose  from, 
the  table  after  the  gentlemen  had  gone  to  bed. 
.,    .    .    When  the  gentlemen  were  put  to  bed. 


294 


NOTES. 


Burns  walked  home  without  any  assistance, 
not  being  the  worse  of  drink.  When  Burns 
was  sitting  at  the  table  in  the  window,  he  had 
pen,  inkj  and  paper,  which  I  brought  him  at 
his  own  request.  He  now  and  then  wrote  or. 
the  paper,  and  while  the  gentlemen  were  sober, 
he  turned  round  often,  and  chatted  with  them, 
but  drank  none  of  the  claret  which  they  were 
drinking.  ...  1  heard  him  read  aloud 
several  parts  of  the  poem,  much  to  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  three  gentlemen.'  It  is  just  pos- 
sible that  Burns  is  after  all  correct  enough  in 
his  dates.  His  letter  to  Captain  Riddel  on  the 
16th  October,  1789,  although  clear  enough  as 
to  the  impending  '  claret-shed,'  hardly  sug- 
gests, that  the  writer  txpected  to  be  present, 
f  he  theory  that  the  revel  had  been  originally 
arranged  for  that  date,  and,  unknown  to  Burns, 
suddenly  postponed  for  a  year,  would  explain 
the  matter. 
Page  105,  /  5.  See  Ossian's  Caricthura.  R.B. 
Page  105,  /  9.  See  Johnson's  'Tour  to  the 
Hebrides.'    R.  B. 

Page  107.  Concerning  this  'sketch*  Burns 
wrote  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  April,  1789:— 

•  I  have  a  poetic  whim  in  my  head,  which  I 
at  present  dedicate,  or  rather  inscribe,  to  the 
Right  Hon.  C.  J.  Fox  ;  but  how  long  that 
fancy  may  hold,  1  cannot  say.  A  few  of  the 
first  lines  I  have  just  rough -sketched  as  foMows.' 
The  poet's  M.S.  of  the  "Sketch"  is  in  the 
British  Museum.  Dr.  Currie  altered  one  pis- 
sage  as  follows : — 

••  With  knowledge  so  vast,  and  with  judgment  so  strong, 
No  man  with  the  half  of  'em  e'er  went  far  wrong; 
With  passions  so  potent,  and  fancies  so  bright, 
No  man  with  the  half  of  'em  e'er  went  quite  right." 

Page  108.  Burns  had  sent  a  letter  to  Dr. 
Blacklock,  under  charge  of  Robert  Heron, 
detailing  certain  recent  changes  in  his  circum- 
stances. The  letter  miscarried,  and  Blacklock 
addressed  Burns  in  the  following  epistle  :— 

Edinburgh,  2ith  August.  1789. 
Dear  Burns,  thou  brother  of  my  heart, 
Both  for  thy  virtues  and  thy  art ; 
If  art  it  may  be  called  in  thee, 
Which  Nature's  bounty  large  and  free 
With  pleasure  on  thy  heart  diffuses, 
And  warms  thy  soul  with  all  the  Muses : 
Whether  to  laugh  with  easy  grace 
Thy  numbers  move  the  sage's  face, 
Or  bid  the  softer  passions  rise. 
And  ruthless  souls  with  gfief  surprise, 
'Tis  Nature's  voice  distinctly  felt, 
Thro'  thee,  her  organ,  thus  to  melt. 

'  Most  anxiously  I  wish  to  know 
With  thee,  of  late,  how  matters  go : 
Mow  keep3  thy  much-loved  Jean  her  health  ? 
What  promises  thy  farm  of  wealth  ? 
Whether  the  Muse  persists  to  smile, 
And  all  thy  anxious  care,s  beguile? 
Whether  bright  fancy  keeps  rtlive? 
And  how  thy  darling  infants  thrive? 

'For  me,  with  grief  and  sickness  spent, 
Since  I  my  journey  homeward  bent, 
Spirits  depressed  no  more  I  mourn, 
But  vigour,  life,  andtfiealth  return. 
No  more  to  gloomy  thoughts  a  prey, 
I  sleep  all  night,  and  live  all  day  -, 
By  turns  my  Dook  and  friend  enjoy, 
And  thus  my  circling  hours'  employ  ; 
Happy  while  yet  these  hours  remain, 
If  Burns  could  join  the  cheerful  train, 
With  wonted  zeal,  Rlncero  and  fervent, 
Salute  once  more  hi»  humble  servant, 

>JT«0*.  fiUC|U.0CJL\ 


To  this  graceful  effusion,  breathing  interest 
and  good  wishes,  Bums  responded,  in  a  light 
mood  at  first,  but  which  becomes  overclouded 
with  bitterness  towards  the  close. 

Page  109.  In  writing  to  his  brother*  Gilbert, 
nth.  January,  1790,  Burns  says  : — 

'  We  have  got  a  set  of  very  decent  players 
here  just  now.  I  have  seen  them  an  evening 
or  two.  David  Campbell,  in  Ayr,  wrote  to  me 
by  the  manager  of  the  company,  a  Mr.  Suther- 
land, who  is  a  man  of  apparent  worth.  On 
New  Year's  Day  evening,  I  gave  him  the  follow- 
ing prologue,  which  he  spouted  to  his  audience 
with  applause.' 

Page  109.  ,  Miss  Burnet,  daughter  of  Lord 
Monboddo,  celebrated  in  the  Address  to  Edin- 
burgh.  This  elegy  seems  to  have  cost  the  poet 
considerable  trouble.  In  a  letter  to  Mr.  Cun- 
ningham, January,  1791,  he  says:— *  I  have 
these  several  months  been  hammering  at  an 
elegy  on  the  amiable  and  accomplished  Miss 
Burnet.  I  have  got,  and  can  get,  no  farther 
than  the  following  fragment.' 

Page  no.  This  epistle  is  supposed  to  have 
been  sent  to  Mr.  Peter  Stuart,  of  the  Star 
newspaper.  From  the  remonstrance  which 
follows  it  would  seem  that  the  newspaper  did 
not  arrive  with  the  punctuality  which  was 
desired. 

Page  tit.  Basil  William,  Lord  Daer,  son  of 
the  Earl  of  Selkirk,  died  in  1794,  in  his  thirty- 
second  year.  Burns  met  him  at  Professor 
Dugald  Stewart's  villa  at  Catrine. 

Page  mi.  Miss  Fontenelle  was  an  actress 
at  the  Dumfries'  Theatre.  In  sending  her  the 
address,  Burns  writes:  'Will  the  foregoing 
lines  be  of  any  service  to  you  in  your  ap- 
proaching benefit-night?  If  they  will,  I  shall 
be  prouder  of  my  muse  than  ever.  They  arc 
nearly  extempore  ;  I  know  they  have  no  great 
merit ;  but  though  they  should  add  but  little  to 
the  entertainment  of  the  evening,  they  give  me 
the  happiness  of  an  opportunity  to  declare 
how  much  I  have  the  honour  to  be,  &c* 
Page  112,  1 2.     Var. 

The  Rights  of  Woman  claim  some  small  attention. 
Page  112,  /  9      Var. 

Our  second  Right— but  idle  Itcre  is  caution. 

Page  112,  /  15.     Var. 
Got  drunk,  would  swagger,  swear,  kick  up  a  riot. 

Page  1 12,  /  20.  An  ironical  allusion  to  the 
saturnalia  of  the  Caledonian  Hunt. 

Page  112,  i  24     Var. 

Must  fall  before— 'tis  dear,  dear  admiration. 

Page  ii2t  I  26.     Var. 

And  thence  that  life  of  life— immortal  Love. 

Page  113  Burns  wrote  Mr.  ^Thomson, 
July,  1794:  '  I  have  presented  a  copy  of  your 
songs  to  the  daughter  of  a  much -honoured 
friend  of  mine,  Mr.  Graham  of  Fintry.  I 
wrote,  on  the  blank  side  of  the  title-page,  the 
following  address  to  the  young  Jady.' 


NOTES. 


295 


Page  Ti3,  /  35.     Var. 

In  strains  divine  and  sacred  numbers  join'd. 

Page  113,  /43-     Var. 

As  modest  want  the  secret  tale  reveals. 

Page  j  13,  ^44.     Frtn 
While  virtue,  conscious,  all  the  strain  endears. 

Page  114.  Gilbert  Burns  doubted  whether 
the  Poem  on  Pastoral  Poetry  was  written  by 
his'  brother.  Few  readers,  we  fancy,  can  have 
any  doubt  on  the  matter.  Burns  is,  unquestion- 
ably, the  author.  The  whole  poem  is  full  of 
lines  which  are  '  like  autographs,'  and  the  four 
closing  stanzas  are  in  the  Poet's  best  manner. 

Page  X14.  With  reference  to  these  verses 
Burns,  in  1795,  wrote  Mr.  Thomson  :  '  Written 
on  the  blauk  leaf  of  a  copy  of  the  last  edition. of 
my  poems,  presented  to  the  lady  whom,  in  so 
many  fictitious  reveries  of  passion,  but  with  the 
most  ardent  sentiments  of  real  friendship,  I 
have  so  often  sung  under  the  name  of  Chloris.' 
The  lady  was  Miss  Jean  Lorimer,  daughter  of 
a  farmer  residing  at  some  little  distance  from 
Dumfries.  Chloris  was  the  most  unfortunate 
of  all  Burns'  heroines  While  very  young  she 
eloped  with  a  gentleman  named  Whelpdale, 
and  was  shortly  after  deserted  by  him.  She 
died  in  1831,  having  lived  the  greater  portion 
of  her  life  in  penury. 

Page  115.  Mr.  Tytler  had  published  an 
'Inquiry,  Historical  and  Critical,  into  the  Evi- 
dence against  Mary  Queen  of  Scots.' 

Page  115,  /  37-  An  artist,  named  Miers, 
was  then  practising  in  Edinburgh  as  a  maker 
of  silhouette  portraits.  Burns  sat  to  him,  and 
to  Mr.  Tytler  he  forwarded  one  of  Miers'  per- 
formances. 

Page  116.  This  sketch  is  descriptive  of  the 
family  of  Mr.  Dunlop,  of  Dunlop. 

Page  ti6,  /  11.  Afterwards  General  Dunlop, 
of  Dunlop. 

Page  116,  /  13.  Miss  Rachel  Dunlop  was 
making  a  sketch  of  CoiLa. 

Page  116,  /  14.  Miss  Keith  Dunlop,  the 
youngest  daughter. 

Page  116.  Burns  and  Smellie  were  members 
of  a  club  in  Edinburgh  called  the  Crochallan 
Fencibles. 

Page  117,  /  8.  Mrs.  Riddel,  of  Woodley 
Park^  was  the  lady  satirized  in  these  verses. 
Dr.  Currie,  in  printing  them,  substituted  'Eliza' 
for  Maria. 

Page  118.  Miss  Jessie  Levvars  attended 
Burns  in  his  last  illness. 

Page  119.  Mr.  John  Syme  was  one  of  the 
Poet's  constant  companions.  He  possessed  great 
talent,  and  Dr.  Currie  wished  him  to  undertake 
the  editing  of  the  Poet's  life  and  writings. 

Page  120,  /  41.  Mr.  Mackenzie,  surgeon, 
Mauchline,  was  believed  to  be  the  gentleman  to 
whom  these  lines  were  addressed. 


Page  122.  In  enclosing  these  verses  to  Mr. 
Creech,  Burns  writes:  'The  enclosed  I  have 
just  wrote,  nearly  extempore,  in  a  solitary  inn 
in  Selkirk,  after  a  miserable  wet  day's  riding." 

Page  122,  /  x.  "Auld  chuckie  Reekie  1" 
Edinburgh. 

Page  123.  In  a  MS.  in  the  possession  of  the 
Publisher  the  two  last  stanzas  are  given. 

Page  124.  Ruisseaux  :  a  play  upon  the  Poet's 
own  name. 

Page  125.  Mrs.  Scott,  of  Wauchope,  Rox- 
burghshire, had  sent  a  rhymed  epistle  to  Burns, 
displaying  considerable  vigour  of  thought  and 
neatness  of  expression. 

Page  126,  1 57.      Var. 

These  five  and  fifty  summers  past. 

Page  127,  Is.     Var. 

Frae  Calvin's  fountain-head  they  drank. 

Page  T27,  /  20.     Var. 

Or  nobly  swing  the  Gospel  club. 

Page  127,  /  29.     Var. 

While  enemies  wi'  laughin' spite. 

Page  127,  /33*     Var. 

Uut  chiefly  thee,  apostle  Auld. 

Page  12 7,  /  36.     Var. 
To  gar  them  gree. 

Page  127,  /  3,  col.  2.     Var. 
1  trust  in  heaven  to  see  them  yet. 

Page  127,  /  11,  col.  2.     Var. 

Auld  Wodrow  lang  has  wrought  mischief. 

Page  127, 1 12,  col.  2.     Var. 
We  trusted  death  wad  bring  relief. 

Page  128.  The  Rev.  Mr.  M'Math  was, 
when  Burns  addressed  him.  assistant  ahd  suc- 
cessor to  the  Rev.  Peter  Wodrow,  minister  of 
Tarbolton.  He  is  said  to  have  been  an  ex- 
cellent preacher. 

Page  130.  '  Holy  Willie '  was  William  Fisher, 
the  leading  elder  in  the  Rev.  Mr.  Auld's  session. 
He  was  afterwards  found  guilty  of  embezzling 
money  from  the  church  offerings,  and  died  in 
a  ditch,  into  which  he  had  fallen  when  drunk. 

Page  132,  /  r.  Written  while  Burns  was  on 
a  visit  to  Sir  William  Murray,  of  Ochtertyre. 

Page  132.  Master  Tootie  was  a  dealer  in 
cows,  who  lived  in  Mauchline.  It  was  his 
practice  to  disguise  the  age  of  his  cattle,  by 
polishing  away  the  markings  on  their  horns. 

Page  133.  The  newspaper  contained  some 
strictures  on  Burns'  poetry. 

Page  134.  John  Maxwell,  Esq.  of  Terraughty 
and  Munches.     He  died  in  1814,  aged  94. 

Page  135,  /  1.  It  is  very  doubtful  whether 
Burns  is  the  author  of  this  piece  published  by 
Cromek. 


296 


NOTES. 


Page  135.  The  'Sketch'  is  a  portion  of  a 
work,  'The  Poet's  Progress,'  which  Burns 
meditated,  but  of  which  hardly  any  portion 
seems  to  have  ever  been  written.  .  The  imme- 
diate object  of  his  satire  is  said  to  have  been  his 
publisher  Creech. 

Page  138,  /  17.  This  ode  was  first  printed  in 
a  London  newspaper.. 

Page  138,  /34-      Var. 
Dim,  cloudy,  sunk  beyond  the  western  wave. 

Page  140.  Miss  Ferrier,  authoress  of  Mar- 
riage and  Destiny. 

Pa%e  140.  Burns'  illegitimate  daughter  mar- 
ried Mr.  John  Bishop,  overseer  at  Polkemmet, 
and  died  in  1817.  She  is  said  to  have  been 
strikingly  like  her  father.  A  coarser  version  of 
this  piece  is  extant,  entitled  '  A  Welcome  to  a 
Bastart  Wean.' 

Page  141.  In  1780  Mr.  John  Goldie,  or 
Goudie,  a  tradesman  in  Kilmarnock,  published 
a  series  of  Essays  touching  the  authority  of  the 
Scriptures.  A  second  edition  of  the  work  ap- 
peared in  1785.  Burns'  epistle  to  him,  although 
written  when  Ayrshire  was  convulsed  with  the 
New  Light  and  Auld  Light  controversies,  was 
not  published  till  1801.  It  appeared  first  in  a 
Glasgow  edition  of  the  poems. 

Page  141,  /  16,  col  2.  Dr.  Taylor  of  Norwich, 
the  author  of  a  work  entitled  '  The  Scripture 
Doctrine  of  Original  Sin  proposed  to  Free  and 
Candid  Examination,'  which  was  extensively 
read  by  the  New  Light  party  in  Ayrshire  at  the 
time. 

Page  141.  Mr.  James  Tennant  of  Glenconner 
was  an  old  friend  of  the  Poet,  and  was  consulted 
by  him  respecting  the  taking  of  the  farm  of 
Ellisland. 

Page  142.  'The  Esopus  of  this  strange  epis- 
tle,'says  Mr.  Allan  Cunningham,  'was William- 
son the  actor,  and  the  Maria  to  whom  it  was 
addressed  was  Mrs.  Riddel.'  While  William- 
son and  his  brother  actors  were  performing  at 
Whitehaven,  Lord  Lonsdale  committed  the 
whole  to  prison. 

Page  144.  A  person  named  Glendining, 
who  took  away  his  own  life,  was  the  subject  o( 
this  epigram.  Mr.  Cunningham  adds  the  fol- 
lowing particulars:  'My  friend  Dr.  Copland 
Hutchison  happened  to  be  walking  out  that 
way' — to  a  place  called  the  'Old  Chapel  near 
Dumfries,'  where  Glendining  had  been  interred. 
'He  saw  Burns  with  his  foot  on  the  grave,  his 
hat  on  his  knee,  and  paper  laid  on  his  hat,  on 
which  he  was  writing.  He  then  took  the  paper, 
thrust  it  with  his  finger  into  the  red  mould  of 
the  grave,  and  went  away.  This  was  the  above 
epigram,  and  such  was  the  Poet's  mode  of  pub- 
lishing it.' 

Page  144,  /  10.  These  lines  form  the  conclu- 
sion of  a  letter  written  by  Burns  to  Mr.  John 
Kennedy,  dated  August,  1786,  while  his  inten- 
tion yet  held  of  emigrating  to  Jamaica. 

Page  144.  'The  Farewell'  was  written  in 
the  autumn  of  1786,  when  the  idea  of  emigration 
was  firmly  fixed  in  the  Poet's  mind. 


Page  147,  /  37.  These  verses  were  inscribed 
by  Burns  on  the  back  of  a  window-shutter  of  an 
inn  or  toll-house  near  the  scene  of  the  devasta- 
tions. 

Page  148.  Major  Logan,  a  retired  military 
officer,  fond  of  wit,  violin-playing,  and  convi- 
viality, who  lived  at  Park,  near  Ayr. 

Page  149.  Gabriel  Richardson  was  a  brewer 
in  Dumfries.  The  epitaph  was  written  on  a 
goblet,  which  is  still  preserved  in  the  family. 

Page  150,  /  5.  Written  in  reply  to  the  minis- 
ter of  Gladsmuir,  who  had  attacked  Burns  in 
verse  relative  to  the  imprudent  lines  inscribed 
on  a  window-pane  in  Stirling. 

Page  150.  Written  from  Ellisland  to  his  friend 
Mr.  Hugh  Parker  of  Kilmarnock. 

Page  150.  These  verses  were  originally 
headed,  '  To  the  Right  Honourable  the  Earl  of 
Breadalbane,  President  of  the  Right  Honourable 
and  Honourable  the  Highland  Society,  which 
met  on  the  23d  of  May  last,  at  the  Shakspeare, 
Covent  Garden,  to  concert  ways  and  means  to 
frustrate  the  designs  of  five  hundred  High- 
landers, who,  as  the  Society  were  informed  by 
Mr.,  Mackenzie  of  Applecross,  were  so  audacious 
as  to  attempt  an  escape  from  their  lawful  lords 
and  masters,  whose  property  they  were,  by 
emigrating  from  the  lands  of  Mr.  M'Donald  of 
Glengarry  to  the  wilds  of  Canada  in  search  of 
that  fantastic  thing— Liberty.' 

Page  iktt  1 25.  These  verses  form  the  con- 
clusion of  a  letter  written  to  Mr.  John  Kennedy 
from  Mossgiel,  of  date  3d  March,  1786. 

Page  152.  Lord  President  Dimdas  died  on 
the  13th  December,  1787,  and  Burns  composed 
the  elegy'at  the  suggestion  of  Mr.  Charles  Hay, 
advocate,  afterwards  elevated  to  the  bench  under 
the  designation  of  Lord  Newton.  On  a  copy  of 
tho  elegy  Bums  afterwards  wrote  :  "The  fore- 
going poem  has  some  tolerable  lines  in  it,  but  the 
incurable  wound  of  my  pride  will  not  suffer  me  to 
correct,  or  even  to  peruse  it.  I  sent  a  copy  of 
it,  with  my  best  prose  letter,  to  the  son  of  the 
great  man,  by  the  hands  of  one  of  the  noblest 
men  in  God's  world,  Alexander  Wood,  surgeon. 
When,  behold  !  his  solicitorship  took  no  more 
notice  of  my  poem  or  me  than  if  I  had  been  a 
strolling  fiddler,  who  had  made  free  with  his 
lady's  name  over  a  silly  new  reel.  Did  the 
gentleman  imagine  that  I  looked  for  any  dirty 
gratuity  ? ' 

Page  153,  /  5.  Written  at  Castle  Kenmure 
at  the  request  of  Mr.  Gordon,  whose  dog  had 
recently  died. 

Page  153,  /a.  These  lines  were  preserved  by 
Miss  Louisa  Laurie,  and  appear  to  have  been 
written  on  the  same  evening  with  the  well-known 
*  Verses  left  in  the  room  where  he  slept.' 

Page  155,  /  9.  '  The  Grace '  was  repeated  at 
St.  Mary's  Isle  at  the  request  of  the  Earl  of 
Selkirk.  ■ 


NOTES. 


297 


Page  155,  / 13.  The  mare,  which  was  named 
after  the  insane  female  who  attempted  the  life 
of  George  III.,  was  the  property  of  Burns'  friend, 
Mr.  William  Nicol. 

Page  155,  1 29.  'These  lines  were  written  on 
a  page  of  the  Statistical  Account  of  Scotland, 
vol,  xiii.,  containing  a  description  of  the 
parish .  of  Balmaghie.  The  minister,  after 
quoting  one  of  the  simple,  rude  martyrs'  epi- 
taphs, adds — '  The  author  of  which  no  doubt 
supposed  himself  to  have  been  writing  poetry.-' 
This  captious  remark  called  forth  Burns's  lines. 
The  book,  with  the  poet's  comment,  is  pre- 
served in  the  Mechanics'  Institute,  Dumfries. 
It  is  curious  as  the  only  expression  of  sympathy 
with  the  Covenanting  cause  which  occurs  in 
Burns. 

Page  156.  While  Miss  Lewars  was  attending 
Burns  she  became  slightly  indisposed.  'You 
must  not  die  yet,'  said  the  poet;  and  writing 
the  four  lines  on  a  goblet  he  presented  it,  say- 
ing, 'This  will  be  a  companion  for  the  "Toast."' 

Page  156,  /  9.  ^  On  Miss  Lewars  recovering 
he  said,  '  There  is  a  poetic  reason  for  it,'  and 
wrote  these  lines. 

Page  156,  /  13.  'The  Toast '  was  written  by 
Burns  on  a  goblet,  and  presented  to  Miss 
Lewars. 

Page  t'57,  /  13.  Mr.  Chalmers  was  a  writer 
in  Ayr,  and  in  love.  He  desired  Burns  to 
address  the  lady  in  his  behalf. 

Page  158..  Burns  arrived  at  Wanlockhead  on 
a  winter  day,  and  was  anxious  to  have  the  shoes 
of  his  mare  frosted.  The  smith  was  busy,  and 
could  not  attend.  Burns  then  scribbled  these 
verses  to  Mr.  John  Taylor,  a  person  of  some 
importance  in  the  place.  Through  Taylor's 
influence  the  smith's  services  were  secured  ; 
and  for  thirty  years  afterwards  it  is  said  Vulcan 
was  in  the  habit' of  boasting  'that  he  had  never 
been  weel  paid,  but  ance,  and  that  was  by  a 
poet,  who  paid  him  in  money,  paid  him  in  drink, 
and  paid  him  in  verse.' 

■Page  158,  /  9.  The  note  on  which  Burns 
wrote  these  lines  is  .of  the  Bank  of  Scotland, 
dated  1st  March,  1780. 

Page  158,  /  19.  The  Loyal  Natives  was  a 
club  in  Dumfries,  'more  distinguished,'  says 
'Cromek,  '  for  drunken  loyalty  than  for  respect- 
ability and  poetic  talent.' 

Page  138,  /  26.  These  lines— with  one  ex- 
ception, the  only  attempt  of  Burns  in  blank 
verse — occur  in  his  common-place  book,  April 
1783.  It  will  be  seen  that  the  poet  had  not 
attained  any  considerable  mastery  over  the  most 
difficult  of  poetic  measures. 

Page  159,  /  17.  This  epigram,  it  is  said, 
silenced  a  gentleman  who  was  talking  mightily 
of  dukesat  the  table  of  Maxwell  of  Terraughty. 

Page  159,  t  25.^  These  lines  occur  in  one  of 
the  letters  to  Clarinda. 

Page  159,  /  37.  These  verses  were  first 
printed  by  Cromek. 

Page  :6o,  /  5.  These  lines  occur  in  one  of 
the  letters  to  Qarinda. 


Page  160.  Mr.  Cobbett,  who  first  printed 
these  lines,  says  :  '  It  is  our  fortune  to  know  a 
Mr.  Kennedy,  an  aged  gentleman,  a  native  of 
Scotland,  and  the  early  friend  and_  associate  of 
Robert  Burns.  Both  were  born  in  Ayrshire, 
near  the  town  of  Ayr,  so  frequently  celebrated 
in  the  poems  of  the  bard.  Burns,  as  is  well 
known,  was  a  poor  peasant's  son ;  and  in  the 
"Cotter's  Saturday  Night"  gives  a  noble 
picture  of  what  we  may  presume  to  be  the 
family  circle  of  his  father.  Kennedy,  whose 
boyhood  was  passed  in  the  labours  of  a  farm, 
subsequently  became  the  agent  to  a  mercantile 
house  in  a  neighbouring  town.  Hence  he  is 
called,  in  an  epitaph  which  his  friend  the  Poet 
wrote  on  him,  "The  Chapman."  These  lines, 
omitted  in  all  editions  of  Burns'  works,  were 
composed  on  Kennedy's  recovery  from  a  severe 
illness.  On  his  way  to  kirk  on  a  bright  Sabbath 
morning,  he  was  met  by  the  Poet,  who,  having 
rallied  him  on  the  sombre  expression  of  his 
countenance,  fell  back,  and  soon  rejoined  him, 
presenting  him  with  the  epitaph  scrawled  on  a. 
bit  of  paper  with  a  pencil.' 

Page  161,  /  13.  In  some  MS.  copies  these 
Stanzas  conclude  '  The  Epistle  to  John  Lapraik, 
an  Old  Scottish  Bard.' 

Page  162,  /  24.  These  verses,  inscribed  to 
Gavin  Hamilton,  were  printed  for  the  first  time 
in  Pickering's  edition. 

Page  163,  /  17.  These  lines  occur  in  a  letter 
addressed  by  Burns  to  Mr.  Robert  Ainslie. 

Page  163.  Burns  in  early  life  sketched  the 
outlines  of  a  tragedy,  and  the  'Tragic  Fragment' 
was  '  an  exclamation  from  a  great  character — 
great  in  occasional  instances  of  generosity,  and 
daring  at  times,  in  villanies.  He  is  supposed  to 
meet  a  child  of  misery  and  exclaims  to  himself.' 

Page  164.  The  following  fragments  are  ex- 
tracted  from  Burns'  commonplace  book,  but  the 
authorship  is  doubtful. 

Page  165,  /  27.  The  Tailor's  epistle  is  as 
follows.  Burns'  reply  was  first  published  at 
Glasgow  in  1801. 

EPISTLE  FROM  A  TAILOR  TO  ROBERT 

BURNS. 

What  waefu"  news  is  this  I  hear. 
Frae  greeting  I  can  scarce  forbear, 
Folk  tell  me,  veer  gawn  aff  this  year 

Out  o'er  the  sea. 
Aur  lasses  wham  ve  lo'e  sae  dear 

Will  greet  for  thee. 

Weel  wad  I  like  war  ye  to  stay. 
But,  Robin,  since  ye  will  away, 
I  ha'e  a  word  yet  malr  to  say, 

And  maybe  twa;- 
May  He  protect  us  night  and  day 

That  made  ua  a'. 
Whar  thou  art  gaun,  keep  mind  frae  roe- 
Seek  Him  to  bear  thee  companie. 
And,  Robin,  whan  ye  com©  to  dlo, 

Ye'll  won  aboon, 
An'  live  at  peace  an'  unity 

Ayont  the  mooo. 


298 


NOTES. 


gome  tell  me,  Rah,  ye  dinna  fear 
To  get  a  wean,  an'  curse  an*  swear  J 
I'm  unco  wae,  my  lad.  to  hear 
.     O' sic  a  trade. 
Cou'd  I  persuade  ye  to  forbear 

I  wad  be  glad. 
Fu'  weel  ye  keri  ye'll  gang  to  hell, 
<Tin  yo  persist  in  doin'  ill — 
Waes  n)e !  ye're  hurlin'  down  the  hill 

Withputen  dread, 
An'  ye'll  get  leave  to  swear  your  nil 

After  ye  re  dead. 
There,  walth  o'  women  ye'll  get  near, 
But  gettin'  weans  ye  will  forbear, 
Ye'll  never  say,  my  bouic  dear, 

Conie,  gie's  a  kiss — 
Jsae  kissing  then— ye'll  grin  an'  sneer, 

An'  ither  hiss. 
0  Rab!  lay  by  thy  foolish  tricks, 
An'  steer  nae  mair  the  female  sex, 
Or  seme  day  ye'll  come  through  the  prices, 

An'  that  yell  see  ; 
Ye'll  fin'  hard  living  wi'  Auld  Nicks  : 

I  'm  wae  for  thee-. 
But  what's  this  comes  wi'  sic  a  knell, 
Aniaist  as  loud  as  ony  bell, 
While  it  does  mak'  my  conscience  tell 

Me  what  is  true,    . 
I'm  but  a  ragget  cowt  myscl', 

Owre  sib  to  you ! 
We're  owr£  like  those  wha  think  it  fit, 
To  stuff  their  noddles  fa'  o'  wit, 
An'  vet  content  in  darkness  sit, 

Wha  shun,the  light, 
To  let  them  see  down  to  the  pit, 

That  long  dark  night. 
But  farewell,  Rab,  I  maun  awa', 
May  He  that  made  us  keep  us  a', 
For  that  wad  be  a  dreadfu'  fa', 

And  hurt  us  sair : 
Lad,  ye  wad  never  mend  ava' } 

§ae,  Rab,  tak'  care. 

Page  167.  This  epitaph,  and  the  following 
epigrams,  appeared  in  the  Kilmarnock,  but 
were  omitted  in  the  first  Edinburgh  and  sub- 
sequent editions. 

Page  168,  /  1.  These  lines  first  appeared  in 
the  edition  published  at  Glasgow  in  1801. 

Page  168,  /  9.  These  lines  first  appeared  in 
the  edition  published  at  Glasgow  in  1801. 

Paget6S,  1 13.  On  Burns'  arrival  at  Inverawy 
the  castle  and  inn  were  filled  with  visitors  to  the 
Duke,  and  the  innkeeper  was  too  busy  to  pay 
attention  to  the  Poet  and  his  friend.  The  epi- 
gram, which  was  first  published  in  the  Glasgow 
edition,  is  supposed  to  have  been  written  on 
one  of  the  windows. 

Page  169.  John  Stewart,  eighth  Earl  of  Gal- 
loway, who  died  in  1796.  Burns  disliked  this 
nobleman,  and  his  dislike  descended  in  a 
shower  of  brilliant- epigrams. 

Page  170,  /  33.   Printed  in  Cromek's  Reliques. 

Page  17 r,  I  1.     Printed  in  the  Glasgow  Col- 
lection, 1 801. 
Page  171,  /  23.  Printed  in  Cromek's  Reliques. 

Page  172,  /  5.  Printed  in  the  Glasgow  Col- 
lection, 1801. 

Page  172.  Captain  Grose  was  extremely 
corpulent.  This  epigram  was  printed  in  the 
Scots  Magazine,  June  1791. 


Page  172.  Printed  in  the  Gfasgow  Collection, 
1S01.  In  a  letter  to  Clarinda,  «n  1787,  Burns 
refers  to  this  epigram.  '  Did  I  ever  repeat  to 
you  an  epigram  I  made  on  a  Mr.  Elphinstone, 
who  has  given  a  translation  of  Martial,  a  famous 
Latin  poet?  The  poetry  of  Elphinstone  can 
only  equal  his  prose-notes.  I  was  sitting  in  a 
merchant's  shop  of  my  acquaintance,  waiting  for 
somebody :  he  put  Elphinstone  into  my  hand, 
and  asked  my  opinion  of  it ;  I  begged  leave  to 
write  it  on  a  blank  leaf,  which  I  did.' 

Page  173.  This  epitaph  was  printed  in  the 
Kilmarnock  edition.  '  Jamie '  was  James  Hum- 
phrey, a  mason  in  Mauchline,  who  was  wont  to 
hold  theological  disputations  with  the  Poet. 

Page  173.  '  Wee  Johnny'  was  John  Wilson, 
the  printer  of  the  Kilmarnock  edition,  in  which 
editioh  Burns  wickedly  inserted  the  epitaph. 
Wilson  printed,  unconscious  that  he  had  any 
other  interest  in  the  matter  than  a  commercial 
one. 

Page  173,  t$.  This,  and  the  two  following  epi- 
taphs, were  printed  m  the  Kilmarnock  edition. 

Page  173.     In  the  Kilmarnock,  Edinburgh, 
and  several  subsequent  editions,  the  first  line 
of  the  '  Bard's  Epitaph'  is  printed  :— >. 
Is  there  a  whim-inspir'd  fool. 

Page  174,  /  19.  Printed  in  the  Kilmarnock 
edition.  In  a  copy  in  the  Poet's  handwriting 
the  first  line  reads  :— 

O  ye  who  sympathise  with  virtue's  pains. 

Page  174,  /  26.    Goldsmith.    R.  B. 

Page  174,  /  27.  Printed  in  the  Glasgow 
edition,  1801. 

Page  174,  /  41.  Burns'  friend,  James  Smith, 
of  Mauchline.  This  epitaph  was  printed  in 
the  Glasgow  Collection. 

Page  176.  These  lines  were  inscribed  on 
a  pane  of  glass  in  Mr.  M'Murdo's  house. 

Page  177,  /  2.  The  Right  Worshipful  Master, 
Major-General  James  Montgomery.  On  the 
24th  of  June  (St.  John's  Day)  the  masonic 
club  in  Mauchline,  of  which  Burns  was  a 
member,  contemplated  a  procession.  Burns 
sent  the  rhymed  note  to  Dr.  Mackenzie,  with 
whom  he  had  lately  been  discussing  the  origin 
of  morals. 

Page  177,  I  16.  This  tumbler  came  into  the 
possession  of  Sn  Walter  Scott,  and  is  still  pre- 
served at  Abbotsford.  'Willie  Stewart'  was 
factor  on  the  estate  of  Closebum  in  Dumfries 
shire.     He  died  in  1812,  aged  63, 

Page  178.  This  song  was  composed  in 
honour  of  Miss  Wilhelmina  Alexander,  sister 
of  the  Laird  of  Ballochmyle,  whom  Burns  had 
met  in  one  of  his  evening  walks. 

Page  178,  /  15.     Var. 

The  lily  hue  and  rose's  dye 
Bespoke  the  lass  0'  Ballochmyle. 

Page  178,  /  3,  a  col.     Var. 

And  all  her  other  charms  are  foil'd. 


NOTES. 


299 


Page  178,  /  5,  2  cot.     Var. 

O  if  she  were  a  country. maid. 

Page  178.  Burns  wrote  to  Mrs.  Dunlop, 
December,  1791  ;•—  . 

*  I  have  just  finished  the  following  song, 
which,  to  a  lady  the  descendant  of  Wallace, 
find  many  heroes  of  his  truly  illustrious  line, 
and  herself  the  mother  of  several  soldiers,  needs 
neither  preface  nor  apology.  The  circumstance 
that  gave  rise  to  the  following  verses  was,  look- 
ing over  with  a  musical  friend  M 'Donald's  col- 
lection of  Highland  airs,  I  was  struck  with 
one,  an  Isle  of  Skye  tune,  entitled  Oran  an 
Aoig,  or  The  Song  of  Death,  to  the  measure  of 
which  I  have  adapted  my  stanzas.* 

Page  178,  /42.     Var. 

Now  gay  with  the  bright  setting  eun. 

Page  179,  / 13.     Var. 

Down  by  the  burn,  where  birken  buds. 

Page  179,  /ai.     Var. 

Altho'  the  night  were  ne'er-  s-ae  wet. 

Page  179,  /  33.  The  two  first  lines  of  this 
song  are -taken  from  an  old  Scotch  ballad, 
printed  in  Johnson's  'Museum.'  Mr.  Cham- 
bers states  that  the  second  stanza  was  designed 
as  a  description  of  Charlotte  Hamilton. 

Page  180,  /  1.  This  song  was  written  when 
Burns  brought  his  wife  home  to  Ellisland.  The 
second  line  was  originally — 

I  '11  share  wi*  naebody. 

Page  180,  /  19.  In  Burns'  MS.  this  line 
stood— 

She  is  a  winsome  wee  thing. 

It  was  altered,  as  in  the  text,  by  Mr.  Thomson. 
Page  180.  Duncan  Gray  was  suggests  J 
"by  a  somewhat  licentious  ditty  published  in 
Johnson's  '  Museum  ;'  the  first  and  part  of  the 
third  line  being  retained.  With  reference  to 
this  song  Burns  wrote  to  Mr.  Thomson,  De- 
cember, 1792 : — '  The  foregoing  I  submit  to 
your  better  judgment :  acquit  them  or  condemn 
them  as  seemeth  good  in  your  s*ght.  Duncan 
Gray  is  that  kind  of  horse-gallop  of  an  air; 
which  precludes  sentiment.  The  ludicrous  is 
its  ruling  feature.* 

Page  181,  /13.     Var. 

How  blest  the  wild-wood  Indian's  fate.—Jl/S. 

Page  181,  2  col.  About  this  song  Burns  wrote 
to  Mr,  Thomson,  January,  1793: — 

*  The  very  name  of  Peter  Pindar  is  an  acqui- 
sition to  your  work.  His  "  Gregory"  is  beau- 
tiful. I  have  tried  to  give  you  a  set  of  stanzas 
in  Scots  on  the  same  subject,  which  are  at  your 
service.  Not  that  I  intend  to  enter  the  lists 
with  Peter  ;  that  would  be  presumption  indeed. 
My  song,  though  much  inferior  in  poetic  merit, 
has,  I  think,  more  of  the  ballad  simplicity  in  it.' 

Dr.  Wolcot's  song  (Peter  Pindar)  riiay  be 
inserted  here  for  purposes  of  comparison. 

4  Ah  ope.  Lord  Gregory,  thy  door  J 

A  midnight  wanderer  sighs  ; 
Hard  rush  the  rains,  the  tempests  roar. 
And  lightnings  cleave  Ujw  aiuta. 


♦Who  comes  with  woe  at  this  drear  night,— 

A  pilgrim  of  the  gloom  ? 
If  she  whose  love  did  once  delight, 

My  cot  sl\all  yield  her  room. 
Alas !  thou  heard'st  a  pilgrim  mourn, 

That  once  was  prized  by  thee : 
Think  of  the  ring  by  yonder  burn 

Thou  gav  'st  to  love  and  me. 
1  But  should'st  thou  not  poor  Marion  know, 

I'll  turn  my  feet  and  part ; 
And  think  the  storms  that  round  mc-blow 

Far  kinder  than  thy  heart.' 

Page  182,  /  13.  A  song  under  this  title  ap- 
peared in  Johnson's  'Museum'  in  1788,  which 
is  said  to  have  been  written  by  Burns.  *  It  is 
so  rude  and  wretched  a  production,'  says  Mr. 
Chambers,  'that  we  cannot  believe  many 
words,of  it  to  have  been  supplied  by  so  mas- 
terly a  pen.' 

Page  182.  The  heroine  of  this  song  was 
Miss  Jessie  Staig. 

Page  183,  /  16.     Var. 

As  simmer  to  nature,  so  Willie  to  me.    Erskine. 

Page  183,  /  19.     Vat. 

Blow  soft,  ye  breezes ;  blow  gently,  ye  billows. 

Erskme. 
Page  183,  /22,     Var. 

Flow  still  between  us,  thou  dark-heaving  main. 

£i-skme. 
Page  183,  ^24.     Var. 

While  dying,  I  think  that  my  Willie's  my  ain. 

Erskme. 

Page  183,  /  31.  This  and  the  following  line 
were  taken  from  a  song,  to  the  same  air,  written 
by  John  Mayne,  afterwards  anthor  of  the  Siller 
Gun,  and  published  in  the  Star  newspaper  in 
1789. 

Page  183,  /  13,  2  col.     Var. 

Ye  mind  na,  'mid  your  cruel  joys, 
The  widow's  tears,  the  orphan's  cries. 

Page  184.  In  July,  1793,  Burns  wrote  Mr. 
Thomson:— *  I  have  just  finished  the  follow- 
ing ballad,  and,  as  I  do  think  it  in  my  best 
style,  Isend  it  to  you,  Mr.  Clarke,  who  wrote 
down  the  air  from  Mrs.  Burns'  wood-note  wild, 
is  very  fond  of  it,  and  has  given  it  a  celebrity  by 
teaching  it  to  some  young  ladies  of  the  first 
fashion  here.  .  .  .  The  heroine  of  the  foregoing 
is  a  Miss  M'Murdo,  daughter  to  Mr.  M'Murdo 
of  Drumlanrig,  one  of  your  subscribers.  I  have 
not  painted  her  in  the  rank  which  she  holds 
in  life,  but  in  the  dress  and  character  of  a 
cottager.' 

Page  184,  /  2i.  In  the  original  MS.  Burns 
asks  Mr.  Thomson  if  this  stanza  is  not  original. 

Page  184,  /  1,  2  col.     Var. 

Thy  handsome  foot  thou  shalt  not  set 

In  barn  or  byre  to  trouble  thee.    MS.  copy. 

Page  184,  lg,  2  col.  In  August,  1793,  Burns, 
wrote  Mr.  Thomson:— '  I  have  tried  my  hand 
on  Robin  Adair,  and  you  will  probably  think 
with  little  success;  but  it  is  such  a  cursed, 
cramp,  out-of-the-way  measure,  that  1  despair 


3oa 


NOTES. 


of  doing  anything  better  to  it.  So  much  for 
namby-pamby.  1  may,  after  all,  try  my  hand 
on  it  in  Scots  verse.  There  I  always  find  my- 
self most  at  home.'  Phillis  the  Fair  is  said  to 
have  been  Miss  M'Murdo, — sister  of  the  heroine 
of  Tliere  was  a  Lass,—3.wd  with  whom  the 
musician  Clarke  (who  gave  lessons  to  the  young 
ladies)  was  in  love.  Fhillis -afterwards  became 
Mrs.  Norman  Lockhart  of  Carnwath. 

'  Page  184,  /  34,  2  col.  A  mountain  west  of 
Strathallan,  3009  feet  high.     R.  B. 

Page  185,  / 17.  Burns  wrote  Mr.  Thomson 
in  August,  1793 :— 'That  crinkum-crankum  tune, 
Robin  Adair,  has  run  so  in  my  head,  and  I 
succeeded  so  ill  in  my  last  attempt,  that  I  have 
ventured,  in  this  morning's  walk,  one  essay 
more.  You,  my  dear  Sir,  wiil  remember  an  un- 
fortunate part  of  our  worthy  friend  Cunning- 
ham's story,  which  happened  about  three  years 
ago.  That  struck  my  fancy,  and  I  endeavoured 
tcTdo  the  idea  justice,  as  follows.'  A  lady  with 
whom  Cunningham  was  in  love  had  jilted  him 
on  the  appearance  of  a  richer  lover. 

Page  .185.  In  August,  1793,  Burns  wrote  Mr. 
Thomson  : — 'Is  Whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  yon, 
my  lad,_one  of  your  airs?  I  admire  it  much  ; 
and  yesterday  1  set  the  following  verses  to  it.' 
In  some  of  the  MSS.  the  first  four  lines*  run 
thus  :— 

O  whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  thee,  my  jo 
O  whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  thee,  my  jo; 
Tho'  father  and  mother  and  a'  should  say  no, 
6  whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  thee,  my  jo. 

In  1795  Burns. wrote  to  Johnson : — '  In  Whistle, 
and  I'll  come  to  ye,  my  lad,  the  iteration  of  that 
line  is  tiresome  to  my  ear.  Here  goes  what  I 
think  is  an  improvement : — 

£>  whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  ye,  my  lad ; 

O  whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  ye,  my  lad  ; 

T ho'  father  and  mother  and  a'  should  gao  mad, 

Thy  Jeanie  will  venture  wi'  yp,  my  lad.' 

Page  1Z6,  I  ■$$.  In  September,  1793,  Burns 
wrote  to  Mr.  Thomson  : — '  I  have  been  turning 
over  some  volumes  of  songs,  to  find  verses 
whose  measures  would  suit  the  airs  for  which 
you  have  allotted  me  to  find  English  songs. 
For  M airland  Willie  you  have  in  Ramsay's 
Tea-table  an  excellent  song,  beginning,  Ah, 
why  those  tears  in  Willie's  eyes  ?  As  for  The 
Colliers  Dochter,  take  the  following  old  bac- 
chanal.' 

Page  186,  /  13,  2  col.  In  a  letter  to  Clarinda 
(supposed  to  be  written  about  February,  1796,) 
Burns  writes :  —  ' The  following  song  is  one  of 
my  latest  productions,  and  I  send  it  to  you,  as 
I  should  do  anything  else,  because  it  pleases 
myself.'  It  has  been  conjectured  that  Mrs. 
M'Lchose  was  the  heroine. 

Page  186.  In  March,  1792,  Burns  wrote  to 
Mr.  Cunningham: — ' Apropos, .do  you  know 
the  mnch-admired  old  Highland  air  called  The 
Sutors  Dochter  ?  It  is  a  first-rate  favourite  of 
mine,  and  1  have  written  what  I  reckon  one  of 
my  best  songs  to  it.  I  will  send  it  to  you  as  it 
was  sung  with  great  applause  in  some  fashion- 


able circles  by  Major  Lobertson,  of  Lude,  who 
was  here  with  his  corps.'  Allan  Cunningham 
states  that  Wilt  thou  be  my  Dearie  ?  was  said 
'to  have  been  composed  in  honour  of  Janet 
Miller  of  Dalswinton,  mother  of  the  present 
Earl  of  Mar;  one  of  the  most  beautiful  women 
of  her  time.' 

Page  187.  In  May,  1794,  Burns  wrote  to 
Mr.  Thomson  :— '  Now*  for  six  or  seven  months, 
I  shall  be  quite  in  song,  as  you  shall  see  by 
and  by.  1  know  you  value  a  composition 
because  it  is  made  by  one  of  the  great  ones  as 
little  as  I  do.  However,  J  got  an  air,  pretty 
enough,  composed  by  Lady  Elizabeth  Heron, 
of  Heron,  which  she  calls  The  Banks  of  Cree. 
Cree  is  a  beautiful  romantic  stream  ;  and  as  her 
ladyship  is  a  particular  friend  of  mine,  I  have 
written  the  following  song  to  it.' 

Page  187,  /  26.  Burns  wrote  Mr.  Thomson 
in  1794  : — '  The  last  evening,  as  1  was  straying 
but,  and  thinking  of  O'er  the  Hills  and  far 
away,  I  spun  the  following  stanzas  for  it ;  but 
whether  my  spinning  will  deserve  to  be  laid  up 
in  store,  like  the  precious  thread  of  the  silk- 
worm, or  brushed  to  the  devil,  like  the  vile 
manufacture  of  the  spider,  I  leave,  my  dear 
Sir,  to  your  usual  candid  criticism.  I  was 
pleased  with  several  lines  in  it  at  first,  but  I 
own  that  now  it  appears  rather  a  flimsy  busi- 
ness.' 

Page  187.  In  September,  1794,  Burns  wrote 
Mr.  Thomson :  *  I  am  flattered  at  your'adopting 
Co.'  the  Yowes  to  the  Knowcs,  as  it  was  owing 
to  me  that,  ever  it  saw  the  light.  About  seven 
years  ago  I  was  acquainted  with  a  worthy 
little  fellow  of  a  clergyman,  a  Mr.  Clunie,  who 
sang  it  charmingly ;  and,  at  my  request,  Mr. 
.  Clarke  took  it  down  from  his  singing.  When  I 
gave  it  to  Johnson,  I  added  some  stanzas  to  the 
song,  and  mended  others,  but  still  it  will  not  do 
for  you.  In  a  solitary  stroll  which  I  took  to- 
day I  tried  my  hand  on  a  few  pastoral  lines, 
following  up  the  idea  of  the  chorus,  which  I 
would  preserve.  Here  it  is,  with  all  its  crudi* 
ties  and  imperfections  on  its  head.'  The  copy 
published  in  Johnson's  '  Museum'  is  much 
inferior  to  the  text. 

Page  188,  /  21.  In  September,  1794,  Burns 
wrote  to  Mr.  Thomson  :— '  Do  you  know  a 
blackguard  Irish  song,  called  Onagfis  Water- 
falU  The  air  is  charming,  and  I  have  often 
regretted  the  want  of  decent  verses  on  it.  It 
is  too  much,  at  least  for  my  humble  rustic  muse, 
to  expect  that  every  effort  of  hers  shall  have 
merit;  still  I  think  that  it  is  better  to -have 
mediocre  verses  to  a  favourite  air  than  none  at 
all.' 

Page  188,  /  13,  2  col.  ,In  sending  this  song  to 
Mr.  Thomson,  19th  October,  1794,  Burns  writes:— 
'  I  met  with  some  such  words  in  a  collection  of 
songs  somewhere,  which  I  altered  and  enlarged  : 
and  to  please  you,  and  to  suit  your  favourite 
air,  I  have  taken  a  stride  or  two  across  my 
room,  and  have  arranged  it  anew,  as  you  will 
find  on  the  other  page.' 


NOTES. 


301 


~Page  188,  /31, 2  col.  The  heroine  of  this  song 
was  Miss  Lorimer,  of  Craigieburn.  Dr.  Currie 
prints  the  following  variation  : — 

Now  to  the  streaming  fountain, 

Or  up  the  heathy  mountain, 
The  hart,  hind,  and  roe,  freely,  wildly-wanton,  stray; 

In  twining  hazel  bowers 

His  lay  the  linnet  pours •, 

The  lav 'rock  to  the  sky 

Ascends  wi'  sangs  o'joy ; 
\Vhile  the  sun  and  thou  arise  to  bless  the  day. 

When  frae  my  Chloris  parted, 

Sad,  cheerless,  broken-hoarted, 
The  night's  gloomy  shades,  cloudy,  dark,  o'ercast  my 
sky. 

Rut  when  she  charms  my  sight 

In  pride  of  beauty "s  light, 

When  through  my  very  heart 

Her  beaming  glories  dart, 
'Tis  then,  'tis  then,  I  wake  to  life  and  joy. 

Page  189,  /  19.  In  sending  this  song  to  Mr. 
Thomson,  November,  1794,  Burns  says  : — '  This 
piece  has  at  least  the  merit  of  being  a  regular 
pastoral:  the  vernal  morn,  the  summer  noon, 
the  autumnal  evening,  and  the  winter  night, 
are  regularly  rounded.' 

Page  189,  / 1,  2  col.     Var. 

And  should  the  howling  wintry  blast 
Disturb  my  lassie's  midnight  rest, 
I'll  fauld  thee  to  my  faithf'u'  breast 
And  comfort  thee,  my  dearie  O. 

Page  189/9,2  col.  With  reference  to  this  song 
Burns  wrote  Mr.  Thomson,  19th  October,  1794  ; 
— '  I  enclose  you  a  musical  curiosity,  an  East 
Indian  air,  which  you  would  swear  was  a. Scot- 
tish one.  I  know  the  authenticity  of  it,  as  the 
gentleman  who  brought  it  over  is  a  particular 
acquaintance  of  mine.  .  .  .  Here  follow  the 
verses  I  intend  for  it.' 

Page  189,  /  25,  2  col.  Burns  sent  the  first  draft 
of  this  song  to  Mr.  Thomson  in  April,  1793.  It 
was  then  addressed  to  'Maria  (supposed  to  be 
Mrs.  Riddel).  When  he  sent  the  version  in  the 
text  to  Mr.  Thomson  in  November,  1794,  he 
had  made  some  inconsiderable  alterations,  and 
substituted  Eliza  for  Maria. 

Page  190,  /  13.  Burns  wrote  to  Mr.  Thom- 
son, November,  1794: — 'Scottish  bacchanalians 
we  certainly  want,  though  the  few  we  have  are 
excellent,  .  .  .  Apropos  to  bacchanalian  songs 
in  Scottish,  I  composed  one  yesterday  for  an 
air  I  like  much,  Lumps  J  Pudding.'  Burns 
tells  Mr.  Thomson  in  a  passage  suppressed  by 
Currie,  that  he  intended  this  song  as  a  picture 
of  his  own  mind. 

Page  190,  /  29.     Clarinda  was  the  heroine  or 
this  song. 
Var. 

Now  in  her  green  mantle  gay  Nature  arrays. 
Page  190,  /31.     Var. 

And  birds  warble  welcomes  In  Ilka  green  shaw. 
Page  rep,  1 33.     Var. 

The  primrose  and  daisy  our  glens  may  adorn. 
Page  1 90, .  /  3 5 .      Var. 

They  torture  my  bosom,  sae  sweetly  they  blow, 
Page  190,  I  36.     /  'ar. 
They  mind  me  0'  Nannie— jtnd  Nannie's  awa, 


Page  1 90,  /  41.     Var. 
Come  autumn  sae  pensive,  in  yellow  array. 

Page  191,  / 1.  The  heroine  of  this  song  was' 
Miss  Lorimer,  of  Craigieburn. 

Page  191,  /.  17.  In  February,  1795,  Burns 
wrote  to  Mr.  Thomson : — '  Here  is  another  trial 
at  your  favourite  air.  ...  I  do  not  know 
whether  it  will  do.' 

Page  igj,  1 58.  In  May,  1795,  Burns  wrote 
to  Mr.  Thomson  :—' The  Irish  air,  Humours, 
of  Glen,  is  a  great  favourite  of  mine,  and  as, 
except  the  silly  stuff  in  the  Poor  Soldier^ 
there  are  not  any  decent  verses  for  it,  I  have 
written  for  it  as  follows.* 

Page  191,  1 62.     Var. 

Far  dearer  to  me  are  these  humble  broom  bowers.  . 

Page  191,  /  63.     Var. 

Where  blue-bells  and  gowans  lurk  lowly  unseen. 

Page  192,  7  9.  Miss  Lorimer  of  Craigieburn 
was  the  heroine  of  this  song. 

Page  192,  /  17.     Var. 

Jeanie,  I'm  thine  wi*  a  passion  sincerest. 

Page  192,  /  1,  2  col.  This  song  is  altered 
from  an  old  English,  one. 

Page  193,  /  25.  The  chorus  of  this  song  was 
originally  written  — 

O  this  is  no  my  ain  body, 
Kind  though  the  body  be,  &c. 

Page  193,  /  27,  2  col.  With  reference  to  this 
song  Burns  asked  Mr.  Thomson: — 'How  do 
you  like  the  foregoing  ?  I  have  written  it  within 
this  hour.  So  much  for  the  speed  of  my 
Pegasus  :  but  what  say  you  to  his  bottom  1 ' 

Page  194,  /  33.  In  the  original  copy  this  line 
stood  — 

He  up  the  Gatcslack  to  my  black  cousin  Bess. 

And  on  3d  June,  1795,  Mr.  Thomson  wrote, 
objecting  to  the  introduction  of  the  word  Gates- 
lack,  and  also  to  that  of  Dalgamock  in  the 
verse  which  -  followed;  On  August  3d  of  the 
same  year  Burns  replied :— '  Gateslack,  the 
word  you  object  to,  is  the  name  of  a  particular 
place,  a  kind  of  passage  up  among  the  Lowther 
Hills,  on  the  confines  of  this  county.  Dalgar- 
nock  is  also  the  name  of  a  romantic  spot  near 
the  Nith,  where  are  still  a  ruined  church  and  a 
burial-ground.  However,  let  the  first  run  "He 
up  the  lang  loan,"  &c.' 

Page  19s,  /  27.  About  May  17,  1796,  Burns 
wrote  to  Mr.  Thomson  :— *  I  once  mentioned  to 
you  an  air  which  I  have  long  admired,  Here's 
a  health  to  thou  that's  aiva,  hiuey,  but  I  for- 
get if  you  took  any  notice  of  it.  I  have  just 
been  trying  to  suit  it  with  verses,  and  I  beg 
leave  to  recommend  the  air  to  your  attention 
once  more.  I  have  only  begun  it.'  Jessie,  the 
heroine  of  the  song,  was  Miss  Jessie  Lewars, 
who  acted  as  nurse  during  the  Poet's  illness,. 


302 


NOTES. 


Page  196,  /  16.  Burns  composed  this  song 
while  standing  under  the  falls  of  Aberfeldy,  near 
Moness,  in  Perthshire,  September,  1787. 

Page  197,  /  it.  This  was  the  last  song  com- 
posed by  Burns.  It  was  written  at  Brow,  on 
the  Solway  Frith,  a  few  days  before  his  death. 
Page  197.  William,  fourth  viscount  of  Strath- 
allan,  fell  at  the  battle  of  Culloden,  while  serving 
on  the  side  of  the  rebels.  In  original  edition 
in^  Johnson's  Museum  the  first  stanza  runs  as 
follows : — 

Thickest  night,  surround  my  dwelling ! 

Howling  tempests,  o'er  me  rave ! 
Turbid  torrents,  wintry  swelling, 
Roaring  by  my  lonely  cave. 

Page  T97,  /  37.     Var. 

Farewell  Heeling,  fickle  treasure, 

Between  Misfortune  arid  Folly  shar'dl 
Farewell  peace,  and  farewell  pleasure ! 

Farewell  flattering  man's  regard! 
Ruin's  wheel  has  driven  o'er  me, 

Nor  dare  a  hope  my  fate  attend ; 
The  wide  world  is  all  before  me, 

But  a  world  without  a  friend ! 

Page  197,  /  9,  2  col.  *  I  composed  these 
verses  on  Miss  Isabella  M''Leod  of  Raasay, 
alluding  to  her  feelings  on  the  death  of  her  sis- 
ter, and  the  still  more  melancholy  death  of  her 
-sister's  husband,  the  late  Earl  of  Loudon,  who 
shot  himself  out  of  sheer  heart-break,  at  some 
mortifications  he  suffered,  owing  to  the  deranged 
state  of  his  finances/— B. 

Page.xg-j.,,1  2$,2col.  'I  composed  these 
verses  out  of  compliment  to  a  Mrs.  Maclachlan, 
whose  husband  is  an  officer  in  the  East  Indies.' 
— B. 

Page  198,  It.  The  heroine  of  this  song  was 
Miss  Euphemja  Murray,  of  Lintrose,  who  was 
an  inmate  of  Ochlertyre  House>  when  Burns 
was  there  On  a  visit. 

Page  198,  1 6,2  cot.  The  heroine  of  this  song 
was  Miss  Margeret  Chalmers. 

Page  199,  /  1.  This  song  was  written  in 
celebration  of  Miss  Jenny  Cruikshank,  daughter 
of  Mr.  Cruikshank,  of  the  High  School,  Edin- 
burgh. 

Page  199.  This  song  was  composed  by  Burns 
when  he  was  about  seventeen  years  of  age. 
The  subject  was  a  girl  in  his  neighbourhood 
named  Isabella  Steven,  or  Stein.  According  to 
Allan  Cunningham,  '  Tibbie  was  the  daughter 
of  a  pensioneV  of  J<yle— -a  man  wijth  three  acres 
of  peat  moss— an  inheritance  which  she  thought 
entitled  her  to  treat  a  landless-  wooer  with 
disdain.' 

Page  199,  /  26,  2  col.  *  This  song,'  Burns 
writes  in  a  note,  '  I  composed  Out  of  compli- 
ment to  Mrs.  Burns.  N.B.— It  was  in  the 
honeymoon.* 

Page  200,  /  1.  This  song  was  also,  composed 
cut  of  compliment  to  Mrs.  Burn*,  Corsincoh 
is  a  hill  at  the  head  of  Nithsdale,  beyond  which 
Mrs.  Burns  lived  before  the  Poet  brought  her 

home  to  Ellisland. 


Page  200,  /  25.  With  regard  to  this  song 
Burns  writes  : — '  I  composed  it  out  of  compli- 
ment to  one  of  the  happiest  and  worthiest  mar- 
ried couples  in  the  world,  Robert  Riddel,  ol 
Glenriddel,  and  his  lady.' 

Page  200,  /  1,  2  col.  'Composed  on  the 
amiable  and  excellent  family  of  Whitefoord 
leaving  Ballochmyle,  when  Sir  John's  misfor- 
tunes obliged  him  to  sell  the  estate.' — B. 

Page  200,  / 17,  2  col.  Burns  writes  concern* 
ing  this  song:— 'The  air  is  Masterton's,  the 
song  mine.  The  occasion  of  it  was  this  :  Mr. 
William  Nicol,  of  the  High  School  of  Edin- 
burgh, during  the  autumn  vacation,  being  at 
Moffat,  honest  Allan,  who  was  at  that  time  on 
a  visit  to  Dalswinton,  and  I,  went  to  pay  Nicol 
a  visit  We  had  such  a  joyous  meeting,  that 
Mr.  Masterton  and  I  agreed,  each  in  our  own 
way,  that  we  should  celebrate  the  business.* 

Page  200,  /  37,  2  col.  In  many  editions  this 
line  is  printed,  '  Wha  last  beside  his  chair  shall 
fa'.'  In  J ohnson's  ^Museum*  it  is  given  as  in 
the  text  It  seems  more  in  accordance  with  the 
splendid  bacchanalian  frenzy  that  he  should  be 
king  who 

Rushed  into  the  field  and  foremost  fighting  fell. 

Victory  does  not  lie  in  stamina  or  endurance. 
For  the  moment  intoxication  is  the  primal  good, 
and  he  h  happiest  who  is  first  intoxicated. 

Page  201,  It.  At  Lochmaben  Burns  spent 
an  evening  at  the  manse  with  the  Rev.  Andrew 
Jeffrey.  His  daughter  Jean,  a  blue-eyed  blonde 
of  seventeen,  presided  at  the  tea-table.  Next 
morning  at  breakfast 'the  poet  presented  the 
young  iady  with  .the  song. 

Page  201,  /  33.  This  song  appears  in  the 
'  Museum  '  with  Burns'  name. attached.  Mrs. 
Begg  maintained  that  it  was  an -old  song  which 
her  brother  brushed  up  and  retouched. 

Page  203,  /20.  ^Crjarming  lovely  Davies* 
is  the  heroine  of  this  song.  „ 

Page  203,  / 17, 2  col.     Var. 

O  wccls  me  on  my  eplrinin  wheel. 

Page  203,  / 18,  2  Col.     Var. 

O  weels  me  on  my  rock  and  reel 

Page  203,  1 24,  2  coL     Var. 

O  weels  dig  on  my  splnnin  wheel 

Page  203*  7  29,  2  col.     Var. 

Alike  to  shield  tire  birdie's  neat 

Page  203,  /  34,  3  cot.     Var. 

And  echoes  con  the  doolfu'  tale. 

Page  204, 1 4.     Var. 

Rejoice  me  at  my  splnnin  wheel 

Page  204,  /  7.     Var. 

O  wha  would  change  tho  humble  «t«fe. 

Page  204,  /9and  10.     Var. 
Amang  their  florin.  Idle  toy*, 
Amang  their  cumbrous,  dinsome  Joyt. 


NOTES. 


3°3 


Page  204,  lit,  2  cot.  In  the  original  MS. 
the  name  of  the  heroine  of  this  song  was  Rabina. 

Page  205.  It  will  be  noticed  that  this  song 
is  not  distinguished  by  botanical  correctness. 
Into  the  Posie  Burns  has  gathered  the  flowers 
of  spring,  summer,  and  autumn. 

Page  206,  /  1.  This  song  appeared  with 
Burns'  name  attached  in  Johnson's  '  Museum.' 
The  simple  and  finer  version  which  follows  was 
sent  to  Mr.  Ballantine  in  1787.  '  While  here  I 
sit,'  Burns  writes,  '  sad  and^  solitary,  by  the  side 
of  a  fire  in  a  little  country  inn,  and  drying  my 
wet  clothes.' 

Page  206,  1 4$.  NThis  song  was  addressed  to 
Clarinda. 

Page  206,' I  Al-     Vdr. 
Dire  was  the  parting  thou  bidst  me  remember. 

Page  207, I 1.  Burns  wrote  to  Mr.  Thomson, 
September,  1793  : — '  The  following  song  I  have 
composed  for  Oran  Gaoil,  the  Highland  air 
that  you  tell  me  in  your  last  you  have  resolved 
to  give  a  place  to  in  your  book.  I  have  this 
moment  finished  the  song ;  so  you  have  it  glow- 
ing from  the  mint.  If  it  suits  you,  well  \  if  not, 
'tis  also  well ! ' 

Page  207,  /  47.  According  to  Dr.  Currie  this 
song  was  composed  in  honour  of  Mrs.  Stewart 
of  Stair.  Gilbert  Burns  thought  the  verses* 
referred  to  Highland  Mary.  Afton  is  an  Ayr- 
shire stream,  and  flows  into  the  Nith,  near  New 
Cumnock. 

Page  208,  / 13,  2  col.  Clarinda  is  supposed 
to  be  the  subject  of  this  song. 

Page  208,  /  28,  2  col.  The  first  four  lines  of 
this  song  are  old 

Page  209,  /g.  The  foundation  of  this  song 
was  a  short  ditty,  written,  it  is  said,  by  one 
Lieutenant  Hinches,  as  a  farewell  to  his  sweet- 
heart 

Page  200,  /  25.  This  song  was  composed  in 
honour  of  Mrs.  Oswald,  of  Auclnncruive. 

Page  209,  /  35,  2  col.     Var. 

The  tod  was  howling  on  the  hill. 

Page  210,  /  1.     Var. 

The  burnadown  its  hazelly  path. 

Page  210,  £3.     Var. 

To  join  yon  river  on  the  strath; 
Page  ato,  Ig.     Var. 

Now  looking  over  firth  and  fauld 

Her  horn  the  pale-faced  Cynthia  rear'd, 
When,  lo,  in  form  of  minstrel  auld 
A  stern  and  stalwart  ghaist  appear 'd. 

Page  210,  / 1,  2  col.  This  song  is  supposed 
10  connect  itself  with  the  attachment  to  High- 
land Mary  and  the  idea  of  emigration  to  the 
West  Indies. 

Pageiw,  1 13.  Written  in  celebration  of 
the  personal  and  mental  attractions  of  Miss 
Chalmers. 


Page  21  r,  /  29.  The  chorus  of  the  song  is  old. 
,Page  211,  IS,  2  col.    Jean  Armour  is  the 
Jean  referred  to. 

Page  211,  /  9,  2  col.  This  Is  one  of  Burns' 
earliest  productions. 

Page  211,  /  25,  2  col.  *  I  composed  this  song 
out  of  compliment  to  Miss  Ann  Mas'terton,  the 
daughter  of  my  friend  Allan  Masterton,  the 
author  of  the  air,  Strathallan's  Lament' — B» 

Page  212,  / 1.  The  first  four  lines  of  this  song 
are  old. 

Page  2X2, 1 12.     Var. 

The  battle  closes  deep  and  bloody. 

Page  212,  /  17.  The  first  stanza  of  this  song 
is  taken  from  a  stall  ditty,  entitled  The  Strong 
Walls  of  Derry. 

Page  212,  /  33^  Concerning  this  song  Burns 
writes :— '  This  air  is  claimed  by  Neil  Gow,  who 
.calls  it  a  lament  for  his  brother.  The  first  half 
stanza  of  the  song  is  old ;  the  rest  is  mine.* 

Page  213, li.  'I  composed'this  song,* Burns 
writes,  '  pretty  early  in  life,  and  sent  it  to-  a 
young  girl,  a  very  particular  acquaintance  of 
mine,  who  was  at  that  time  under  a  cloud.' 

Page  213,  /  1,  2  col.  'This  song/  Burns 
writes,  'is  altered  from  a  poem  by  Sir  Robert 
Ayton,  private  secretary  to  Mary  and  Anne, 
Queens  of  Scotland.  ...  I  think  I  have  im- 
proved •  the  simplicity  of  the  sentiments  by 
giving  them  a  Scots  dress.' 

Page  213,  /  33.  'This  song,'  says  Burns, 
'alludes  to  a  part  of  my  private  history  which 
it  is  of  no  consequence  to  the  world  to  know.* 

Page  2x4,  / 1.  Burns  says :  *  This  tune  is  also 
known  "by  the  name'  of  Lass,  an*  I  come  near 
thee.    The  words  are  mine.' 

Page  214,  /  25.  These  verses  were  inspired 
by  Clarinda— the  most  beautiful  and  passionate 
strain  to  which  that  strange  attachment  gave 
birth. 

Page  215,  /  17.  Allan  Cunningham  states 
that  Burns  considered  this  to  be  the  finest 
love-song  he  had  ever  composed — an  opinion  in 
which  few  readers  will  concur. 

Page  215,  /49-  '  These  verses,'  says  Burns, 
*  were  composed  on  a  charming  girl,  Miss 
Charlotte  Hamilton,  who  is  now  married  to 
James  Mackittrick  Adair,  physician.  She  is 
sister  to  my  worthy  friend  Gavin  Hamilton, 
of  Mauchline,  and  was  born  on  the  banks  of 
the  Ayr.' 

Page  216,  /34-  This  song  was  writjten  soon 
after  Burns'  visit  to  Gordon  Castle  in  1787. 
The  variations  are  from  a  copy  in  the  Poej.3 
handwriting. 

Page  2i6;  /  37.     Var. 

There  iramix'd  with  foulest  stains. 
Page  216,  /  33.     Var. 

From  Tyranny's  empurpled  hands. 


3°4 


NOTES. 


Page  210,  1 1,  9  col.     Var. 

I  leave  the  tyrants  and  their  slaves. 

Page  216,  ?4,  2  <:<?£     Frtr. 

Torrid  forests,  ever  gay. 

Page  217.  In  September,  1793,  Burns  wrote 
to  Mr.  Thomson  : — '  Blithe  hae  I  been  o'er  the 
hill  is  one  of  the  finest  songs  ever  I  made  in 
my  life :  and,  besides,  is  composed  on  a  young 
lady,  positively  the  most  beautiful,  lovely 
woman  in  the  world.'  The  young  lady  was' 
Miss  Lesley  Baillie. 

Page  217,  / 17.  The  first  and  second  stanzas 
of  this  song  are  by  Burns;  the  third  and 
fourth  are  old. 

Page  217,  /  33.  In  August,  1793,  Burns 
wrote  to  Mr.  Tho'mson : — 'That  tune,  Cauld 
Kail,  is  such  a  favourite  of  yours,  that  I  once 
more  roved  out  yesterday  for  a  gloamin-shot 
at  the  Muses ;  when  the  Muse  that  presides 
o'er  the  banks  of  Nith,  or  rather  my  old  in- 
spiring dearest  nymph,  Coila,,  whispered  me  the 
following.' 

Page  217,  749.  Burns  wrote  Mr.  Thomson 
September,  1793  :— '  I  have  finished  my  song  to 
Saw  ye  my  Father?  and  in  English,  as  you  will 
see.  That  there  is  a  syllable  „too  much  for  the 
expression  of  the  air  is  true ;  but  allow  me  to 
say  that  the  mere  dividing  of  a  dotted  crotchet 
into  a  crotchet  and  a  quaver  is  not  a.  great 
matter :  however,  in  that;  I  have  no,  pretensions 
to  cope  in  judgment  with  you.  The  olef  vetses 
have  merit,  though  unequal,  and  are  popular. 
My  advice  is, to  set  the  air  to  the  ola  words, 
and  let  mine  follow  as  English  verses.  Here 
they  are.' 

Page  218,  /  13.  On  the  19th  October,  1794, 
Burns  wrote  to  Mr.  Thomson: — 'To  descend 
to  business ;  if  you  like  my  idea  of  When  she 
cam  ben,  she  bobbit>  the  following  stanzas  of 
mine,  altered  a  little  from  what  they  were 
formerly  when  set  to  another  air,  may  perhaps 
do  instead  of  worse  stanzas.' 

Page  218,  /  25.  In  September,  1793,  Burns 
wrote  Mr.  Thomson: —  Fee  hint,  Father.  I 
enclose  you  Fraser's  set  of  this  tune  when  he 
plays  it  slow  ;  in. fact  he  makes  it  the  language 
of  despair.  I  shall  here  give  you  two  stanzas 
in  that  style,  merely  to  try  if  it  will  be  any 
improvement.  Were  it  possible  in  singing  to 
give  it  half  the  pathos  which  Fraser  gives  it  in 
playing,  it  would  make  an  admirably  pathetic 
song.  I  do  not  give  these  verses  for  any  merit 
they  have.  I  composed  them  at  the  time  in 
Which  "  Patie  Allan's  rnither  died — that  was, 
about  the  back  of  midnight,"  and  by  the  lee- 
sidejof  a  bowl  of  punch  which  had  overset  every 
mortal  in  company  except  the  hautbois  and  the 
Muse.' 

Page  219,  /  9.  In  November,  1794,  Burns 
wrote  Mr.  Thomson  ; — '  You  may  think  meanly 
of  this,  but  take  a  look  at  the  bombast  original, 
and  you  will  be  surprised  that  I  have  made  so 
much  of  it* 


Page  220,  I  ai.  This  is  partly  composed  on 
the  plan  of  an  old  song  known  by  the  same 
name.  R.  B.  The  ballad  appeared  in  the  first 
Edinburgh  edition. 

Page  221,  It.  On  the  19th  November.  1794, 
Burns  wrote  to  Mr.  Thomson  :— -'  Well !  I  think 
this,  to  be  done  in  two  or  three  turns  across  my 
room,  and  with  two  or  three  pinches  of  Irish 
blackguard,  is  not  so  far  amiss.' 

Page  221, 1 1,  2  col.  This  fragment  appeared 
in  the  first  Edinburgh  edition. 

Page  222,  /  33.  This  song  appeared  in  tbe* 
Kilmarnock  edition. 

Page  222,  /  29,  2  col.  This  song  appeared  in 
the  Kilmarnock  edition. 

Page  223,  /  1.  The  poet  proposed,  for  the 
sake  of  euphony,  to  substitute  L'ugar  for 
Stinehar,  but  in  all  his  editions,  from  1786  to 
1794,  'Stinehar'  is  printed. 

Page  223,  /  33.  This  song  was  printed  in  the 
fitst  Edinburgh  edition.. 

Page  223,  /  21,  z^coL  -Composed  in  August. 
This  song  appeared  in  the  Kilmarnock  edition. 

Page  224,  /  29.  This  song  was  printed  in  the 
first  Edinburgh  edition. 

Page. 224,  I  49.  Young's  -Night  Thoughts. 
R»  B. 

Page  225,  /  1.  In  the  'autobiographical 
sketch  forwarded  to  Dr.  Moore,  Burns  writes : 
— '  I  had  taken  the'  last  farewell  of  my  few 
friends  ;  my  chest  was  on  the  road  to  Greenock ; 
and  I  had  composed  the  last  song  I  should  ever 
measure  in  Caledonia — 

The  gloomy  night  is  gathering  fust ; 

when  a  letter  from  Dr.  Blacklock  to  a  friend,  of 
mine  overthrew  all  my  schemes,  by  opening 
new  prospects  to  my  poetic  ambition,'  'I he 
song  was  printed  in  the  first  Edinburgh  edition. 

Page  225.  The  '  Farewell '  was  printed  in 
the  Kilmarnock  edition. 

Page  225,  /  2i,  2  col.  Mr.  Chambers  states 
that  the  grand  master  referred  to  In  the  text 
was  Major-General  James  Montgomery  ;  else- 
where the  grand  master  is  said  to  have  been 
Sir  John  Whitefoord. 

Page  225,  /  33,  2  col,  Menie  is  the  common 
abbreviation  of  Marianne.  R.  B.  This  chorus 
is  part  of  a  song  composed  by  a  gentleman  in 
Edinburgh,  a  particular  friend  of  the  author's. 
R.  B.  This. song  appeared  in  the  first  Edin- 
burgh e'dition. 

Page  226,  /  29.  Concerning  this  song  Burns 
wrote  Mr,  Thomson  on  the  14'th  November, 
1792  :—' The  foregoing  song  pleases  myself;  I 
think  it  is  in  my  happiest  manner  :  you  will  see 
at  first  glance  that  it  suits  the  air.  The  subject 
ofthesongisoneof  the  mostinterestingpassages 
\  of  my  youthful  days ;  and  I  own  that  I  should  be 


NOTES. 


3*5 


much  flattered  to  see  the  verses  set  to  an  air 
which  would  insure  celebrity.  Perhaps,. after 
all,  'tis  the  still  glowing  prejudice  of  my  heart 
that  throws  a  borrowed  lustre  over  the  merits 
of  the  composition.' 

Page  226.  Burns  stated,  both  to  Mrs.  Dunlop 
and  Mr.  Thomson,  that  Auld  Lang  Syne  was 
old.  It  is;  however,  generally  believed  that  he 
was  the  entire,  or  almost  the  entire,  author. 
In  Pickering's  edition  the  following  variations 
are  taken  from  a  copy  in  the  Poet's  handwriting. 

Page  226,  /  26, 2  col.     Var. 

And  never  thought  upon. 

Page  226,  /  27,  2  col.     Var. 

Let's  hae  a»waught  o'  Malaga 
For  auld  lartg  syne. 

Page  226,  /  29,  2  col.     Var. 

For  auld  lang  syne,  ray  jo. 

Page  226,  /  31,  2  col.     Var. 

Let's  hae  a  waught  0'  Malaga. 

Page  227.  In  September,  1793,  Burns  sent 
this  song  to  Mr.  Thomson.  'There  is/  he 
wrote,  'a  tradition,  which  I  have  met  with 
in*many  places  of  Scotland,  that  it '  (the  old  air 
Hey  tuttie  taitie)  '  was  Robert  Bruce's  march 
at  the  battle  of  Bannockburn.  This  thought  in 
my  yesternight's  evening  walk  warmed  me  to 
a  pitch  of  enthusiasm  on  the  theme  of  Liberty 
and  Independence,  which  I  threw  into  a  kind 
of  Scottish  ode,  fitted  to  the  air,  that  one  might 
suppose  to  be  the  gallant  royal  Scot's  address 
to  his  heroic  followers  on  that  eventful  morning. 
So  may  God  ever  defend  the  cause  of  truth  and 
liberty  as  He  did  that  day.  Amen.'  Mr. 
Thomson  wrote  suggesting  alterations,  and 
Burns  replied: — '"Who  shall  decide  when 
doctors  disagree?"  My  ode  pleases  me  so  much, 
that  I  cannot  alter  it.  Your  proposed  altera- 
tions would,  in  my  opinion,  make  it  tame.  I 
am  exceedingly  obliged  to  you  for  putting  me 
on  reconsidering  it,  as   I  think  I   have  much 

improved  it I  have  scrutinised  it  over 

and  over ;  and  to  the  world,  some  way  or  other, 
it  shall  go  as  it  is.' 

Page  227,  /  21,  2  col.  In  January,  1795, 
Burns  wrote  Mr.  Thomson  : — '  A  great  critic 
(Aikin)  on  songs  says  that  love  and  wine  are 
the  exclusive  themes  for  song-writing.  The 
following  is  on  neither  subject,  and  conse- 
quently is  no  song  ;  but  will  be  allowed,  I 
think,  to  be  two  or  three  pretty  good  prose 
thoughts  converted  into  rhyme.' 

Page  -21%,  1 25.  Of  this  song  Burns  says  : — 
'The  title  of  the  song  only  is  old  ;  the  rest  is 
mine.'  In  Johnson's  'Museum'  he  published 
an  early  version,  with  the  burden,  'The 
gardener  with  his  paidle.' 

Page  230,  /21.  Gilbert  Burns  did  not  con- 
sider his  brother  the  author  of  this  song. 

Page  231,  /  22.  This  song,  which  became 
immensely  popular  at  the  time,  was  published 
in  the  Bunt  fries  Journal^  5th  May,  1795. 


Page  -2y2,  I  1.  This  was  written  in  an 
envelope   to    Mr.   Cardonnel,   the    antiquary,* 

enclosing  a  letter  to  Captain  Grose. 

Page  232,  /  2,  2  col.     Var. 

Sweet  and  harmless  as  a  child. 

Page  232,  / 13,  2  col.  This  was  one  of  Burns? 
earliest  compositions. 

Page  233,  / 1.  This  song  appears  in  Johnson's 
'  Museum '  without  Burns'  name. 

Page  233.  M'Pherson  was  a  Highland  free- 
booter, of  great  personal  strength  and  musical 
taste  and  accomplishment.  While  lying  in 
prison  under  sentence  of  death,  he  composed 
his  Farewell,  words  and  air,  the  former  of 
which  began : — 

4  I've  spent  my  time  in  rioting, 

Debauch 'd  my  health  and  .strength ; 
I  squander'd  fast  as  pillage  camr, 
And  fell  to  shame  at  length. 
But  dantonly  and  wantonly 
And  rantonly  I'll  gae  : 
I'll  play  a  tune  and  dance  it  roun. 
Beneath  the  gallows'  tree.' 
When  brought  to  the-  gallows*  foot  at  Banff, 
he  played  his  Farewell,  and  then  broke  his 
violin  across  his  knee.     His  sword  is  preserved 
at  Duff  House. 

Page  233,  /  6,  2  col.  This  ballad  refers  to 
the  contest  between  Mr.  Erskine  and  Mr. 
Dundas  for  the  Deanship  of  the  Faculty  .of 
Advocates.  On  the  12th  January,  1796,  Mr. 
Dundas  was  elected  by  a  large  majority. 

Page  234,  /  1,  2  col.  Another  version  of  this 
song  is  printed  in  Cromek's  Reliques.  The 
text  is  from  a  copy  in  the  Poet's  own  hand- 
writing. 

Page  236.  On  12th  March,  1791,  Burns 
wrote  to  Mr.  Thomson  :—' Lest  I  sink  into 
stupid  prose,  and  so  sacrilegiously  intrude  on 
the  office  of  my  parish  priest,  I  shall  fill  up  the 
page  in  my  own  way,  and  give  you  another 
song  of  my  late  composition.  .  .  .  You  must 
know  a  beautiful  Jacobite  air,  There' 11  never  be 
peace  till  Jamie  conies  hame.  When  political 
combustion  ceases  to  be  the  object  of  princes 
and  patriots,  it  then,  you  know,  becomes  the 
lawful  prey  of  historians  and  poets.' 

Page  236,  /  17.  In  a  copy  of  this  song  in  the 
Poet's  handwriting  the  first  stanza  and  chorus 
are  thus  given  :— 

There  was  a  Birliie  born  in  Kyle, 
But  what  na  day  o'  what  na  style, 
1  doubt  it's  hardly  worth  the  while 
To  bo  so  nice  with  Davie. 
Leeze  me  on  thy  curly  povr, 
Bonie  Davie,  daintie  Davie  : 
Leeze  me  on  thy  curly  pow, 
Thou'se  ay  my  daintie  Davie. 

Page  236,  /  26.  Jan.  25tfi,  1759*  the  date  of 
my  hardship's  vital  existence.     R.  B. 

Page  236,  /  35.      Var. 

He'll  gie  his  daddiels  name  a  hlftvr. 

Page  236,  /  6,  2  col.     Var. 

Yell  gar  the  las;e*  Ue  ftSB&fr 


306 


NOTES. 


Page  237,  / 13.  On  20th  March,  1793,  Burns 
wrote  Mr.  Thomson  : — 'This  song  is  one  of  rny 
juvenile  works.  I  do  not  think  it  very  remark- 
able, either  for  its  merits  or  demerits.' 

Page  237,  /  13,  2  col.     Var. 

And  ay.I  mln't  the  witching  smile. 
Page  237,  / 19,  2  col.     Van 

Wha  spied  I  but  my  ain  dear  las"s. 

Page  237,  /  23,  2  col.     Var. 

Wl'  frcmit  voice,  quoth  I,  Sweet  lass. 

Page  237,  /  32,  2  col.     Var. 
And  lov'lier  look'd  than  ever. 

Page  237,  740,  2  col.     Var. 
Syne  wallow't  like  a  lily. 

Page  237,  /41,  2  col.     Var. 

And  sank  within  my  arms,  and  cried. 
Page  238,  /  3.     Var. 

Though  wealth  be  sma',  we're  rich  In  love.. 
page  2$,  1 5.     Var. 

Quo'  she,  My  grandsirS  left  me  gear. 
Page  238,  /  7.     Var. 

And  come,  my' ain  dear.soger  lad. 

Pa.gc  238,  /  17.  Concerning  .this  song  Bums- 
writes  :—rf  The  following  song  is  a  wild  rhapsody, 
miserably  deficient  in  versification  ;  but  as  .the 
sentiments  are  the  genuine  feelings  of  my  heart, 
for  that  reason  I  have  a  particular  pleasure  in 
conning  it  oyer.' 

Page  239,  /  i.  Composed  on  the  death  of 
James  Fergusson,  Esq  Younger,  of  Craig- 
darroch. 

Page  239.  'Bonic  Lesley'  was  Miss  Lesley 
Bailhe,  daughter  of  Mr.  Baillie  of  Ayrshire. 
Mr.  Bailliei  on  his  way  to  England  with  his  two 
claughters,  called  on  Burns  at  Dumfries.  Burns 
"rnounted,  accompanied  them  fifteen  miles,  and 
composed  the  song  as  he  rode  homewards. 

Page  .239, '/  24,  2  col.  Jean  Armour  is  the 
'  Mauchline.lady  *  referred  to. 

Page  240.  'My  Montgomerie's  Peggy,* 
writes  Burns,  '  was  my  deity  for  .six  or  eight 
months;  ...  A  vanity  of  showing  my  parts  in 
courtship,  particularly  my_  abilities  at  a  billet- 
doux,  which  I  always  piqued  myself  upon, 
made  me  lay  siege  to  her.'  Burns,  after  he  had 
warmed  info  a  passion  for  Peggy,  found  that 
she  was  pre-engaged,  and  confessed  that  it  cost 
him  some  heartaches  to  get  rid  of  the  affair. 

Page  240,  /  29,  2  col.  Dr.  Currie  inserted  this 
in  his  first  edition,  but  withdrew  it  on  finding  it 
was  the  composition  of  Helen  Maria  Williams. 
Burns  had  copied  it;  his  MS.  is.  now  in  the 
British  Museum. 

Page  241,  I  25-  A  song,  in  several  stanzas, 
similar  to  this  occurs  in  the  Jolly  Beggars. 

Page  241,  /  16,  2  col.  This  song  was  written 
on  one  of  the  anniversaries  of  Highland  Mary's 
death. 

Page  «4j,  la8,  a  col,    VarK 
~H&t$roUjr  c*n  iipt  efface* , 


Page  242,  /  3.     Var. 

Time  but  the  impression  stronger  makes. 
*  Page  242,  16.     Var. 

Where  is  thy  place  of  heavenly  rest? 

Page  242,  /41.  Burns  chanted  these  verses 
on  hearing  some  one  express  his  joy  at  General 
Dumourier's  defection  from  the  service  of  the 
French  Republic. 

Page  243,  /  19.     Var. 

The  primroses  blush  in  the  dews  of  the  morning. 

Page  243,  /  23.      Var. 

No  bird*  sweetly  .singing,  no  flowers  gaily  springing. 

Page  243,  /  28.      Var. 

here  the  wild  beasts  find  shelter,  though  I  can  find 
none. 

PageUp}  ? 32-      Var\ 
Alas!  can  I  make  you  no  better  return? 

Pagv  245,  /  43.     Charles  James  Fox. 

Page  246,  /  3.  Thomas  Erskine.  A  some- 
what different  version  of  this  piece  is  in  Scots 
Magazine  for  January  181 8. 

Page  246,  /  13.  Burns  writes : — '  The  choru* 
of  this  song  is  old  ;  the  rest  of  it,  such  as  it  is, 
is  mine.' 

Page  248.  The  'Five  Carlins'  represent  the 
five  boroughs  of  Dumfries-shire  and  Kirkcud- 
bright, which  were  at  the  time  contested  by 
Patrick  Miller  of  Dalswinton  in  the  Whig,  and 
Sir  James  Johnstone  of  Westerhall  in  the  Tory, 
interest.  Dumfries  is  '  Maggie  by  the  banks  o' 
Nith;'  Annan  is  'blinkin  Bess  o'  Annandale ;' 
Kirkcudbright  'whisky  Jean*  of  Galloway; 
Sanquhar  '  black  Join  frae  Creighton  peel  ;' 
and  Lochmaben  '  Marjorie  o'  the  monie  Lochs.' 

Page  248,  /  25,  2  col.    Sir  James  Johnstone. 

Page  2481'/  33*  2  col.  Captain  Miller  of 
Dalswinton. 

Page  249,  Iq     King  George  III. 

Page  249,  / 12.    The. Prince  of  Wales. 

Page  249,  /  25,  2  col.  This  song,  founded 
on  an  old  ballad;  was  printed  in  Johnson's 
'Museum.* 

Pag-?  250,  /  48.     Var. 

Sae'kend  in  martial  story. 

Page  250,  /  26,  2  col:    Var. 

I'll  breathe  this  exclamation. 

Page  251,  li.  Concerning  this  song  Burns 
writes  : —  The  chorus  I  picked  up  from  an  old 
woman  in  Dunblane ;  the  rest  of  the  song  is 
mine.' 

Pagf-zst,  1 25.  Another  version  of  this  song 
will  be  found  p.  19"  1,  1 1. 

Page  252,  tit.  Allan  Cunningham  mentions 
a  report  that  Burns  wrote  these  verses  in  humo- 
rous allusion  to  the  condition  in  which  Jean 
Armour  found  herself  before  marriage. 

Page  252,  /  31.  Thk  \&  founded  on  an  old 
song. 


NOTES. 


307 


Page  252,  /  47.  This  is  founded  on  an  old 
song. 

Page  253,  1 2$.  This  6ong  was  altered  by 
Burns  from  a  Jacobite  ditty. 

Page  254,  / 17.  Another  version  of  this  son? 
will  be  found  p.  1S1,  1  24. 

Page  257,  /  33.  It  is  doubted  whether  Burns 
was  the  author  of  this  song. 

Page  257,  /  25,  2  col.  Of  this  song  Burns 
writes :— 'These  were  originally  English  verses  ; 
I  gave  them  their,Scots  dress.' 

Page  258,  / 13.  Part  only  of  this  song  is  by 
Burns. 

Page  258,  /  31.  Part  only  of  this  song  appears 
to  have  been  written  by  Burns. 

Page  258,  /  13,  2  col.  Of  this  song  Burns 
writes:— 'The  chorus  is  old;  the  rest  of  it  is 
mine.' 

Page  259,  / 1,  2  col.  The  foundation  Of  this 
song  is  old. 

Page  260,  /  1.  This  is  founded-  on  an  old 
ballad. 

Page  261,  /  13.  'The  last  stanza  of  this  song,' 
Burns  writes, '  is  mine.  It  was  composed  out  of 
compliment  to  one  of  the  worthiest  fellows  in 
the  world,  William  Dunbar,  Esq.  W.S.  Edin- 
burgh, and  colonel  of  the  Crochallan  Corps,  a 
club  of  wits  who  took  that  title  at  the  time  of 
raising  the  Fencible  regiments.' 

.  Page  262,  / 1,  2  col.    The  first  four  lines  of 
this  song  are  old. 

Page  262,  / 17.  The  second  verse  of  this  song 
is  by  Burns. 

Page  262,  /  33.  Concerning  this  ballad  Gil- 
bert Burns  says :— '  When  Mr.  Cunninghame  of 
Enterkin  came  to  his  estate,  two  mansion  houses 
on  it,  Enterkin. and  Anbank,  were  both  in  a 
ruinous  state.  Wishing  to  introduce-  himself 
mthsomeeclat  to  the  county,  he  got  temporary 


erections  made  on  the  banks  of  Ay*1,  tastefully 
decorated  with  shrubs  and  flowers,  for  a  supper 
and  ball,  to  which  most  of  the  respectable 
families  in  the  county  were  invited.  It  was  a 
novelty,  and  attracted  much  notice.  A  dissolu- 
tion of  Parliament  was  soon  expected,  and  this 
festivity  was  thought  to  be  an  introduction  to  a 
canvass  for  representing,  the  county.  Several 
other  candidates  were  spoken  of,  particularly 
Sir  John  Whitefoord,  then  residing  at  Cloncaird 
(commonly  pronounced  Glencaird),  and  Mr. 
Boswel!,  the  well-known  biographer  of  Dr.John- 
son.  The  political  views  of  the  festive  assem- 
blage, which  are  alluded  to  in  the  ballad,  if  they 
ever  existed,  were,  however,  laid  aside,  as  Mr. 
Cunninghame  did  not  canvass  the  county.' 

Page  265,  /  9.  Burns  says  the  second  and 
fourth  stanzas  of  this  song  were  written  by  him. 

Page  266,  / 1.  This  song  is  founded  on  an 
old  ballad. 

Page  268;  /  25.  The  last  two  verses  of  this, 
song  are  by  Burns. 

Page  269,  /  37,  2  col.  The  '  Heron  Ballads ' 
were  written  on  the  occasion  of  the  Stewartry 
of  Kirkcudbright  being  contested,  in  1795,  by 
Mr.  Heron  of  Kerroughtree  in  the  Whig,  and 
Mr.  Gordon  of  Balmaghie  in  the  Tory,  interest. 

Page  270,  /  14,  2 -col.    Var. 

For  now  what  he  wan  in  the  Indies 
Has  scoured  up  the  laddie  fu'  clean. 

Page  273,  / 1.  This  song  was  produced  at  a 
festive  meeting  of  the  Kilmarnock  Masonic 
Lodge,  presided  over  by  Mr.  William  Parker. 

Page  275,  /  7.  Gilbert  Burns  was  of  opinion 
that  his  brother  did  not  write  this  song. 

Page  277,  /  5,  2  col.  Burns  states  concerning 
this  song:—4 1  added  the  four  last  lines  by  way 
of  giving  a  turn  to  the  theme  of  the  poem,  such 
as  it  is.' 

Page  278,  / 1,  2  col.  The  text  has  been  col- 
lated with  a  copy  in  the  Poet's  handwriting. 


GLOSSARY 


Page  line  col. 

A*,  all 2  16 

Aback,  away  from 5      1 

Abeigh,  at, a  shy  distance   ...  53  12    2 

Aboon,  above     .......  79  20 

Abread,  abroad,  in  sight     ...  ,74  27    2 

Abreed,  in  breadth    .....  53  36    2 

Abusin',  abusing 126  15 

Acquent,  acquainted .    «...  201  18 

A'-day,  all  day 26  25 

Adle,  putrid  water 99  31 

Advisement,  advice    .    *    .    .    .  204  20 

Ae,  one 25  12 

only 246  13 

AS,  off 6  15 

Aft-hand,  at  once 30  9 

Aff-loof,  extemporaneously      .    .  ,77  34    2 

Afore,  before 46  19 

Aften,  often ..    .  •  2  11 

A-gley ,  off  the  right  line    .*•<*.  54  34    2- 

Aiblins,  perhaps     ......  4  19 

Aik,  an  oak 89      1    2 

Aiken,  oaken .  234  9 

Ain,  own 16  12 

Air,  early >  108  8    2 

Airl-penny,  earnest  money  .     .    .  202  14 

Airles,  earnest  money     ....  132  32    2 

Airn,  iron     .    .    .     /" .    .    .     .  29  28    2 

Aims,  irons 93  37 

Airt,  direction 199  26    2 

the  Point  from  which  the  wind 

blows  4 210  27 

to  direct    : 254  36    2 

Airted,  directed 142  15 

Aith,  an  oath li  18 

Aiths,  oaths 80  22 

Aits,  oats 6  30 

Aiver,  an  old  horse 37  38 

Aizle,  a  hot  cinder 46  7 

Ajee,  to  the  one  side 265  38 

Alake!  alas!     .......  8  19 

Alang,  along     .......  178  4 

Amaist,  almost  .......  58  35    2 

Amang,  among 18  33 

An',  and *  2  16 

An's,  and  is*    .*.'....  58  28 

Ance,  once    ...» 1  6 

Ane,  one 11  21 

Anes,  ones 48 

Anither,  another    ......  33  14    2 

Artfu',  artful 223  10 

Ase,  ashes 45  13    2 

Asklent,  obliquely 140  19    2 

aslant 180  2    2 

Asteer,  astir 46  32    2 

A'thegither,  altogether  ....  166  23    2 

^Atbort,  athwart aio  7 


Page  line  coh 

Atween,  between no  34 

Aught,  eight      .......  53  27    2 

Aughteen,  eighteen 239  14    2 

Aughtlins,  anything,  in  the  least  151      82 

Auld,  old 1      2 

Auld's,  as  old  as -.  122  31    a 

Aulder,  older 246  34 

Auldfarran,  sagacious     ....  n  21 

Aumous,  alms 48  10    2 

Ava,  at  all 2  14 

Awa,  away    ...;....  2      5 

Awe,  to  ovje ♦    .    .  245  32 

Awee,  a  little  time 31      7 

Awfu',  azvful ;  93  47 

Awkart,  awkward 77  28 

Awnie,  bearded     ......  6  30 

Ay,  always 33,      2 

Ayont,  beyond .  23  39 

BA\aball 57      6    a 

Babie-clouts,  baby-clothes    .     .    .  213      1 

Backets,  buckets 96  it 

Bade,  e?idured 25  43 

desired 108  20 

Baggie  (dim.  of  bag),  the  stomach  53      2 

Bamie,  bony,  muscular  ....  82 

Bairns,  children 29  23 

Bairntime,  a  family  of  children  .  37  23 

Baith,  both    ..........  4  is 

Bakes,  biscuits 17  30 

Ballats,  ballads  .....  114  20 

Ban',  band 128      8 

Banes,  bones . 5  19 

Bang,  a  stroke.    An  unco  bang,  a 

heavy  stroke  or  effort  25  43 

Bannet,  a  bonnet    .     .   •.    .     .    .  268  13    a 

Bannock,  a  cake  of  oatmeal  bread  142  12 

Bardie,  dim.  of  bard 9  2 

Barefit,  barefooted 15  23 

Barkit,  barked 4  10 

Barkin,  barking 9  9 

Barm,  yeast 170  13 

Barmie,  of  or  like  barm     ...  34  20 

Batch,  a  party 15  43 

Batts,  the  botis  •» 23  13 

Bauckie-bird,  the  bat 48  2 

Baudrons,  a  cat 30  13 

Bauks,'  cross-beams 45  25    a 

Bauk-en',  end  of  a  bank  or  cross- 
beam    45  33    » 

Bauld,  bold n  25 

Bauldly,  boldly 47  4 

Bauiriy,  balmy 205  16 

Bawk,.rt«  open  space  in  a  cornfield, 

generally  a  ridge  left  untitled  199,  a 
88 


3to 


'GLOSSARY. 


Page  Una  col. 
Baws'nt,  having  a  white  stripe  down 

tlieface i  31 

Bawtie,  a  familiar  name  for  a  dog  X37  24 

B€t,beit 17  41 

Bear,  barley  .     .......  6  21 

Beastie,  dim.  of  beast     ,.    .     .    .  54  19 

Beets,  adds  fuel  to  fire  ....  58  32 

Befa',  befall  .........  223  11 

Behint,  behind 10  32 

Belang,  belong  to   • 239  30 

Belang'd,  belonged  to .     .     .%   .    .  130  18 

Beld,  bald .*  .     .  201  21 

Bellum,  a  noise,  an  attack  .    .    .  122  17    2 

Bellyfu',  bellyful   ......  71  20    2 

Bely  ve,  by  and  bv  ......    .  62  xo 

B&xi,  into  the  spe.tce  or  parlour  .  38  xi 
Benmost  bore,  Mtf  innermost  recess, 

or  hole 49  4 

Bethankit,  the  grace,  of ter  meat  .  72  24 

Beuk,  a  book .  50  5 

Devil's  pictur'd  beuks,  cards    .  6  4 

Bicker,  a  wooden  disk    ....  7  34 

a  few  steps  unwittingly  ...  20  18 

Bid,  to  wish,  or  ask    .....  150  26 

Bide;  to  stand,  to  endure    *    .     »  13  14 

Biel,  a  habitation  .......  71  32    2 

Bield,  sJtelter 69  21 

Bien,  plentiful 57  22 

•    comfortably 203  19    2 

Big,  to  build.    .......  267  33 

Bigg,  to  build 265  3 

Bigs,  builds   .    .    i 43  12 

Biggin,  building 2  37 

Bill,  a  bull 31  24    2 

Billie,  a  good  fellow x  24 

Billies,  young  fellows'    ....  55 
Bings,  heaps  of  any  thing,  such  as 

turnips,  potatoes      ....  24  27 

Birdies,,  dim.  of  birds     ....  196  24 

JBirk,  the  birch  .    .    .    .    .    .    ...  148  15 

Birks,"  birches 179  13 

Bhrken,  birchen .......  147  12    2 

Birken  shaw,  a  small  birch  wood  198  6 

Birkie,  a  spirited  fellow ....  17  23 

Birring,  whirring 42  29    2 

Birses,  bristles  .......  151  1    2 

Bit,  crisis 31  30    2 

Bizzard  gled,  a  kite 27X  40    2 

Bizz,  a  bustle     .     .    • 32  25 

Bizzy,  busy    .  . 49  38 

Bizzie,  busy  ........  X26  7 

Bizzies,  buzzes 121  7    2 

Black  Bonnet,  the  elder.    ...  15  30 

Blae,  blue     .......     .    .  127  9    2 

sharpt  keen    .     .     .    .    .    .    .  14X  24 

Blastie,  a  term  of  contempt    .     .  74  27    2 

Blastit,  blasted,  withered  ...  2  29 

Blate,  shamefaced     .....  31  18 

Blather,  bladder    ......  8  37 

Blaud,  to  slat    .......  29  21 

a  Quantity  of  anything  .    .    ♦  77  38 

Blaudin',  pelting    ......  128  2 

Blaw,  to  blow    .......  54  10 

to  brag 76  37    a 

Blaws,  Slows 191  6    2 

Blawn,  blown    .......  99  15 


Page  line  dot. 

Blawn' i,  had  blown  it    ....  50    34    2 

Bleatin,  bleating 80    19    2 

Bleerit,  bleared ♦    .  182    19 

Bleeze,  a  blaze 93      8 

Bleezin,  blazing 32      3 

Blellum,  an  idle  talking  fellow   .  91    20 

Blether,  the  bladde r 33    18    2. 

nonsense 77    33    2 

Blethers,  nonsense  ......  38    23 

Bleth'rin,  talking  idly    ....  15    3S 

Blin',  blind x8o    10    2 

Blins,  blinds  . 208    30    2 

Blin't,  blinded  .......  261 

Blink,  a  blink  o*  rest,  a  short  period 

of  repose    . 3 

a  short  time .  19 

a  -moment  ....#...  77 

a  look    ..........  94 

Blinks,  looks  smilingly   ....  3 

Blinkers,  a  term  of  contempt  .    .  9 

•  pretty  girls    ........  149 

Blinkin,  smirking  ......  15 

Blirt  and  bleary,  fits  of  crying    .  254 

Blitter,  the  mire  snipe     ...    .    .  269 

Blue-gown,  one  of  those  beggars  who 
get  annually  on  tlie  king's  birth' 
day  a  blue  cloak  or  gown  with  a 

badge 8x 

Blude,  blood 93 

Bluid,  blood .    .  10 

Bludie,  bloody   . 137 

Bluidy,  bloody    .....*.  13 

Blume,  bloom     .......  206 

Bluntie,  a  sniveller, a  stupid  person  203 

Blypes,  large  pieces    .....  47 

Bocked,  vomited   ......  55 

.  Boddle,  a  small  coin 26 

Boggie,  dim.  of  bog    .....  269 

Bogles,  ghosts    * 9a 

Bonie,  beautiful x 

Bonnocks,  thick  cakes  of  oatmeal 

bread .    .  12 

Board,  board     ........  3X 

Boor  trees,  elder  shrubs  ....  31 

Boost,  must  needs .    .....  36 

Bore,  a  hole  or  rent 93 

Bouk,  a  corpse  .;...»..  230 

Bouses,  drinks  .......  4 

Bow-hough'd,  crook-thighed    .    .  207 

Bow-kail,  cabbage  ......  44 

Bow* $  crooked  ........  44 

Brae,  the  slope  of  a  hill ....  54 

Braid,  broad 12 

Braid  Scots,  broad  Scotch  ...  27 

Braid-claith,  broad-cloth      ...  15 

Braik,  a  kind  qf  harrow     ...  77 

Braing't,  reeled  forward    .     .     .  53 

Brak,  did  break     .     .     .     .     .    .  32 

Brak's,  broke  his 92 

Brankie,  well.attired     ...     .  269 
B ranks,  a  kind  of  wooden  curb  for 

horses 20    30 

Brany,  brandy .  125    36    a 

Brash,  sickness 8    26 

Brats,  rags   ........  xa    38 

Brattle, a shor tract..    ....  53   ao   » 


30 
x8 

28 
14 
^3 
12 

45 

16 

9 

40 

32 
34 


20 
4i 
38 
27 
27 
2 
6 

17 
xx 

7 

34 

44 

3 

14 

32 
35 
35 

9 
34 
37 

9 
15 
18 

8 
20 
35 
21 

19 
40 

3i 

5S 


CLOSSARY. 


3" 


Page 
Braw,  handsome    ......        x 

Brawly,  perfectly 25 

Braxies,  morbid  sheep     ....      79 

Breastie,  dim.  of  breast ....       54 

Breastit,  did  spring  up  or  forward     54 
Brechan,  a  horse-collar  .     .     .     .     157 

Breckan,  fern  .......     191 

JJree.  /«£*>  liquid      ......        8 

Breeks,  breeches    ......        9 

Brent,  straight 93 

smooth,  unwrinklcd    .     .     .     .     201 

Brewin,  breiuing 29 

Brief,  a  writing    ......     166 

Brig,  bridge 25 

Brither,  brother     ......      79 

Brithers,  brothers  ......      xx 

Brock,  a  badger     .....     t  '     3 

Brogue,  a  /jrofe 32 

Broo,  water 27 

broth 163. 

Brooses,  races  at  country  weddings 

.who  shall  first  reach  the  br/de- 

groom's    house    on   returning 

from  church 53 

Browst,  as  imich  malt  liquor  as  is 

brewed  at  a  time  .  .  .  .  255 
Browster-wives,  ale-lmise  wives  .    126 

Brugh,  burgh 25 

Brughs,  boronglts 9 

Brulzie,  a  broil ,      80 

Brunstane,  brimstone 9 

Brunt,  burned 45 

Brust,  burst 9 

Buckie,  dim.  of  buck in 

Buckskin,  an  inhabitant  of  Virginia  81 

Buff,  to.  beat 127 

Bughtin-time,  the  time  of  collecting 

the  sheep  in  the  pens  to  be  milked 179 
Buirdly,  strong,  impoiing-froking, 

well-knit 3 

Bvikc,  book 104 

Bum,  to  hum 79 

Bum-clock,  a  beetle 6 

Bumming,  making  a  noise  like  a  bee  31 
Bummle,  a  blunderer      ....       71 

Bunker,  a  chest 93 

Burdies,  damsels 94 

Bure,  bore,  did  bear 53 

Burns,  streams 43 

Burnie,  dim.  of  burn  ....  47 
Burnewin,  i.e.  burn  t/ie  wind,  a 

blacksmith 7 

Bur-thistle,  the  spear-thistle  .  .  125 
Busking,  dressing,  decorating     .     263 

Buskit,  dressed .      25 

Busks,  adorns 114 

Buss,  a  bush  .* 189 

Bussle,  a  bustle xo 

But,  without 189 

But  an'  ben,  kitchen  and  parlour      17 

By,  past 32 

apart 54 

By  attour,  in  tlie  neighbourhood, 

outside .    254 

Byke,  a  multitude  .  .  .  •  .  52 
a  beehive  •    ••   *   •   •  •  •    (64 


line  col. 
»3 
39 

38    2 
go 
9 
14 
27 

iS 

20 
22 
20 

33    2 

1 

31 

31    2 

28 

xo 

21 

28 

10 


>5     2 

15    2 

23 

12 

26 

42      2 

17 

6      2 
36 
IO 

26     2 
•15      2 


3 

32  2 
30  2 
II 

33 
32 

25 

12 

32 

3 

28 

4' 
21 

3 

44 

2X 

19  2 
27 

56  2 
28 

34 

X2      2 

33  2 
3 

7 


Page  line  col. 

CA',  to  drive     ........  32  35    3 

a  call     .........  47      3 

Ca'd,  named      . 1  26 

driven 9*  25 

Ca's,  calls 2  19 

Ca't,  called 53  12    2 

Ca'  throu',  to  push  forward    .    .  268  25    2 

Cadger,  a  carrier  ......  48  12    2 

Cadie,  a  fellow. 12  10 

Caff,  chaff 41  24 

Cairds,  tinkers  .......  35  17 

Calf-ward,a  small  inclosure for  calves  22  33 

Callans,  boys 80      7 

Caller,  fresh 14      4 

Callet,  a  trull 48  32 

Cam,  came 29  17 

Cankert,  cankered ......  124  37 

Cankrie,  cankered  ;'• 148  40 

Canna,  cannot .  16  17 

Cannie,  carefully,  softly .     ...  X2      3 

Cannilie,  dexterously .     ....  17  24 

Cantie,  in  high  spirits     ....  47 

Cantin',  canting X28  so 

Cantrip,  a  charm,  a  spell    ...  93  33 

Cape-stane,  cope-stone     ....  33  27 

Cap'rin,  <apering 51  xx    3 

Careerin,  clte/rjully    .....  47  31    3 

Carl,  a  carle .    ".'.,....:  148  36 

Carlie,  dim.  of  carle  .....  249  16 

Carlin,  an  old  woman     ,.    .    .    .  11      6 

Cartes,  cards     ■.    -    .    .    .  ' .    .58  38 

Cartie,  dim.  of  cart 159      43 

Caudrons,  cauldrons 30  15 

Cauf,  a  calf 255  21    3 

Cauk  and  keel,  chalk  and  red  clay  95  38 

Cauld,  cold 5  18 

Caulder,  colder  .  * 156  20 

Caups,  wooden  drinking  vessels   .  18  32 

Causey,  causeway 27  23 

Cavie,  a  hen-coop 51  31 

Chamer,  chamber ,  95      7    3 

Change-house,  a  tavern .    ;    .     .  17  28 

Chap,  a  fellow  . n  31 

Chapman,  a  pedlar 91      I 

Chaup,  a  blow 7  42 

Cheek  for  chow,  cheek  by  jowl     .  10  33 

Cheep,  chirp 29  23    2 

Cheerfu',  clieerful 58  23 

Chiels,  young fellows 3      3 

Chimla,  chimney X50  13 

Chimlie,  chimney 45  26 

Chittering,  trembling  with  cold   .  55  23 

Chows,  chew's 7      i 

Chuckie,  dim.  of.  chuck  ....  108  27 

Christendie,  Christendom    .    .    .  200  20    2 

Chuffie,  fat-fared  ......  10  33 

Clachan,  a  hamlet 20      x 

Claise,  clothes 32  12 

Claith,  cloth 23  5" 

Claith'd,  clothed     ......214      5* 

Claithing,  clothing 19  4 

Clamb,  clomb .  201  26 

Clankie,  a  sharp  stroke  ....  269  18 

dap,  a  clapper' 41  2$ 

Clark,  clerkly,  pertaining  to  eru- 
dition,   ......#.  124  8 

*99. 


3«* 


GLOSSARY, 


Page  line  col. 

CJarkit,  wrote    ........  38  27 

Clarty,  dirty 170  13 

Clash,  idle  talk 34  27 

to  talk 140  14    2 

Clatter,  to  talk  idly 8  10 

Kintra  clatter,  the  talk  of  the 

country  ........  252  18 

Claught,  caught  < 95  19 

Claughtin,   catching  at  anything 

greedily .     .  245  30 

Claut,  to  snatch  at,  to  lay  hold  of  121  21 
a  quantity  scraped  together  by 

niggardliness 182  15 

Clautet,  scraped 37  40    2 

Claver,  clover   .......  204  1 

Clavers,  idle  stories 114  4 

Claw,  scratch 10  21" 

Clean,  handsome    ......  200  .14 

Cleckin,  a  brood 122  9    2 

Cleed,  to  clothe  .......  42  25 

deeding,  clothing 148  42 

Cleek,  to  seize 50  30 

Cleekit,  linked  themselves  ...  94  1 

Clegs,  gad-flies 148"  27    2 

Clink,  to  rhyme 77  27    2 

money    .    .• 142  11    2 

Clinkin,  sitting  down  suddenly    .  16  13 

Clinkumbell,  the  chtirch  bell-ringer  .19  9 

Clips,  s/tears.     ........  33  31 

Clishmaclaver,  idle  conversation  .  28  15 

Clockin-time,  hatching-time    *    .  81  24    2 

Cloot;  the  hoof 32  31 

Clootie,  Satan  .    , 31  2 

Clours,  bum/s  or  swellings  after 

a  blow 80  2    2 

Clouts,  clothes 29  22    2 

Clout,  to  patch 51  82 

apatch 231  40 

Clud,  a  cloud 84  15 

Cluds,  multitudes 230  28 

Chic,  a  Portion  of  cloth  or  yarn  .  207  20 
Clunk,  the  sound  emitted  by  liqtior 

when  shaken  in  a  cask  or  bottle, 

when  the  cask  or  bottle  is  half 

empty     .  • 51  26    2 

Coatie,  dim.  of  coat    .....  251  16 

Coaxin,"  coaxing'    ......  78  35 

Coble,  a  fishing-boat 53  22 

Cock,  to  erect    ........  79  28 

Cocks,  good  fellows    .....  81  3 

Cockie,  dim.  of  cock,  a  good  fellow  108  29    2 

Cod,  a  pillow 250  9 

Co'er,  to  cover '  52  36 

Coft,  bought 94  39 

Cog,  a  wooden  dish 7  34 

Cojrgie,  dim.  of  cog 37  36    a 

Cofla,  from  Kyle,  a  district  of 

Ayrshire,  so  called,  saith  tra- 

dttion,from  Coil,  or  Coilft,  a 

Pictish  monarch  .....  79  31 

Collie,  a  country  dog .....  1  23 

Coilicshangie,an uproar,  tfquarrel  no  33 

Commans,  commandments .    .     .  14  21 

Comin',  coming 133  25 

Compleenin,  complaining    .    .    .  202  27 

Converse,  conversation  .    .    .    .  15°  23 


Page  line  col. 

Cood,  the  cud ,  7      1 

Coofs,  fools,  ninnies    .....  57  31 
Cookie,  that  appeared  and  disap- 
peared by  fits  47      32 

Coost,  did  cast  .......  32  33 

Cootie,  a  wooden  kitchen  dish  .    .  31      5 
Fowls  whose  legs  are  clad  with 

feathers  are  also  said  to  be 

cootie 42  30    2 

Corbies,  crows 27  45 

Com' t,  fed avith  oats  .     .     .     .    k  53  n    2 

Corss.  the  market-place .     .     .     .  151  27 

Couldna,  could  tiot     .    .     .    .    ..  164  32    2 

Counted,  considered  ......  124      52 

Countra,  country   ......  5      2 

Couthie,  kindly,  loving  ....  45  21 

Cowe,  to  terrify.   Cowe  the  cadie, 

terrify  the  fellow.    ....  12  10 

to  lop 30  17 

a  fright.    ........  80  13    2 

Cowp  the  cran,  to  tumble  over     .  166  15 

Cowpit,  tumbled    ......  22      2 

Cowpet,  tumbled  ...     .     .    .    .  126  19    2 

Cow'rin,  cowering 54  19 

Cowr,  to  cower 128      1 

Cour,  to  cower  .......  94  33 

Cowt,  a  colt 37  37 

Cowte,  a  colt 104  24 

Cozie,  cozy 18      7 

Crabbit,  crabbed    .....    v  6      3 

Crack,  a  story  or  harajtgue     .    .  10  23 

talk 19  18 

Crackin,  conversing,  gossiping     .  4      7 

Craft,  a  croft     .....*.  36  36 

Craft  rig,  a  croft  ridge    ....  227  27 

Craig,  the  throat  ......  96      32 

Craigie,  dim.  of  craig,  the  throat  51  17    2 

Craigs,  crags     . 146  16 

Craigy,  craggy .  89  45 

Craiks,  landrails 84  25 

Crambo-clink,  rhymes     ....  71  14 

Crambo-jingle,  rhymes   ....  76  33 

Crankous,  irritated   ,,...'  11  35 

Cranreuch,  hoarfrost     ....  48  .6 

Crap,  to  crop .    . 84  12 

Craps,  crops  ....*...  34  27 

Craw,  to  crow 42  30    2 

Crawlin,  crawling 74  11 

Creel,  my  senses  wad  be  in  a  creel,- 

to  be  crazed,  to  be  fascinated .  78  31     2 
Crcepie-chair,  the  chair  o*-  stool  of 

repentance  ......    ;  213      9 

Creeshie,  greasy 29      8 

Crocks,  old  sheep    ......  126  33 

Croods,  coos  .     .     v     .     .     .    .    .  79      52 

Crooded,  cooed 242  33    2 

Cronie,  a  comrade 15      x 

Croon,  a  hollow  and  continued 

moan 47      9    2 

Crouchie,  crook-backed   ....  46  29    2 

Crouse,  gleefully,  with  spirit  .     .  4      7 

Crowdie,  porridge .     .     .     .     .     .  231      2 

Crowdie-time,  breakfast-lime  .     .  15  14 
Crurfimock,  a  "staff  with  a  crooked 

head  .     .     .    • 94  15 

Crump,  crisp     .;.....  15  27 


GLOSSARY. 


3*3 


Crunt,  a  blow  on  the  head  with  a 
cudgel 

Cuddle,  to  fondle 

Cuifs,  blockheads,  ninnies   .     .     . 

Cummock,  a  short  staff  with  a 
crooked  head .. 

Cunnin,  cunning 

Curch,  a  female  head-dress      .     . 

Curchie,  a  curtsey ■ 

Curmurring,  a  rumbling  noise .     . 

Curpin,  the  crupper 

Curple,  t/te  crupper 

Cushats,  wood-pigeons     .... 

Ciistock,  the  centre  of  a  ste?n  of 
cabbage •  . 

Cutty,  short,  bob-tailed  .... 

Cut,  fashion,  shape 

T>ADDIE,father 

Daez't,  stupefied 

Daffin,  merriment 

Daft,  foolish 

Dails,  deals  of  wood  for  sitting  on 
Daimen-icker,  an  ear  of  corn  now 

and  t/ien  .... 
Daisie,  the  daisy  .  .  . 
Damies,  dim.  of  darnes  . 
Dam,  water .  .  . '  .  . 
Danton,  to  subdue .  .  . 
Dang,  knocked,  pushed  . 
Dappl't,  dappled  .  .  . 
Darin,  dariiig  .... 
Darklins,  darkling  .  . 
Daud,  to  pelt  .... 
Daudin',  pelting  .  .  . 
Dauntingly,  dauntlessly . 
Daur,  to  dare  .... 
Daur't,  dared  .... 
Daur  na,  dare  not .  .  . 
Daut,  to  fondle,  ,to  make  v, 
DaWtc,  to  fondle  .  .  . 
Tpawtit,  fondled,  caressed 
Daurk,  a  day's  labotir  . 
Daviely,  spiritless  . 
Davie's,  King  David's  . 

Daw,  dawn 

Dawin,  the  dawning  .  ^  . 
Dawds,  lumps,  large  pieces 
Dead-sweer,  btit  little  inclined 
Deave,  to  deafen    . 
Deils,  devils  .     .     . 
Deil  ma  care,  devil  may  care 
Deil  haet,  devil  a  thing  . 
Deleerit,  deliricus .     .    . 
Delvin,  delving.     .     '.     . 
Descrive,  to  describe  .     . 
D.eservin,  deserving   .     . 
Deservin't,  deserving  of  it 
Deuk,  a  duck     .... 
Devel,  a  stunning  blow  . 
Dictionar,  a  dictionary  . 
Diddle,  to  strike  or  jog  . 
Differ,  difference    .     .    . 
Dight,  cleaned  from  chaff 

to  wipe  away .... 
Din,  dun  in  colour     .    , 


Page  line  col. 


80      4     2 
101     23 

Q 


8 


7i  19 

202  16 
252  17 

14  25 

23  14 

46  9 

125  28 

203  25 

45  5 

94  25 

96  2 


tick 


of 


49 
x6i 


54  33 

53  8 

108  33 

13  40 

I40  21 

239  8 

53  9 

210  14 

45  25 

29  19 
126  8 
233  22 

46  11 

53  " 
205  7 
140  26 
255  26 

31  23 

54  1 
137  8 
166  12 
200  23 
252  31 

18  36 

73  23 

30  23 
5  48 

21  38 

5  34 

46  17 

73  42 

79  27 

54  8 

151  26 

249  10 

42  33 

122  27 

148  30 

41  22 

41  23 

51  x 

207  II 


Page  line  col. 

Dine,  dinner-time ......  226  39    a 

Ding,  to  surpass 32  13    2 

be  pushed  or  upset  .....  36122 

Dings,  knocks 140  3 

Dink,  neat,  trhn 246.  33 

Dinna,  do  not .  19  7 

Dinner'd,  dined m  20 

Dirl,  a  vibrating  blow    ....  21  39 

to  vibrate 93  3° 

DirPd,  executed  with  spirit     .    .  239  6    2 

Disagreet,  disagreed 127  26 

Dizzen,  a  dozeyi 5  30 

Dizzie,  dizzy 77  34 

Dochter,  daughter 248  25 

Doin',  doing .     . no  30 

Doited,  stupefied 7  13 

Donsie,  unlucky 41  31 

Dooked,  ducked     .......  50  32 

Dools,  sorrows 101  1    2 

Doolfu',  sorrowful 122  26 

Doos,  pigeons .*    .  230  13    2 

Dorty,  supercilious,  huffy  ...  12  33 

Douce,  grave,  sober 27  23 

Doucely,  soberly 9  27 

Doudled,  dandled  ...."..  262  22 

Dought,  could,  might     ....  140  3    2 
Dought  na,  did  net,  or  did  not 

choose  to 168"  2    2 

Doup,  tfie  backside     .  ' .     .     .     .  101  26 
Doup-skelper,  one  that  strikes  the 

tail no  31 

Dour,  stubborn 207  x    2 

Doure,  stubborn     .......  55  x 

Douser,  more  decorous    .    .    .    .  in  12 

Dow,  do,  can 19  12 

Dowe,  do,  can 165  16    2 

Dowff,  pithless,  silly  .....  77  36 

Dowie,  low-spirited    ...'..  33  3' 

Downa  bide,  cannot  stand  ...  13  14 
Downa  do,  a  phrase  signifying 

impotence 249  23    2 

Doylt,  stupid 8  27 

Doytin,  walking  stupidly    ...  51  34 

Dozen'd,  iinpotent,  torpid  .     .     .  141  27 

Dozin,  stupefied^  iinpotent .     .     .  202  29 

Draiglet,  draggled 254      3    a 

Drants,  sour  humours     ....  245  27 

Drap,  drop,  a  small  quantity  .     .  7  23 

Drappie,  dim.  of  drap    ....  161  13 

Drapping,  dropping    .....  62  to 
Draunting,  drawling,  of  a  slow 

enunciation 121  20    2 

Draw't,  draw  it 166  17    2 

Dree,,  to  endure 252  18 

Dreeping,  dripping 35  13    2 

Dreigh,  tedious 53  8    a 

Dribble,  drizzle 54  29    a 

Driddle,  to  play 50  31    2 

to  move  slozuly 148  33 

Drift,  a  drove.     Fell  aff  the  drift, 

wandered  from  his  companions    44  14     2 

Droddum,  the  breecfi 74  17    2 

Drone,  the  bagpipe 223  82 

Droop-rumpl't,  that  droops  at  the 

crupper 53  '9    » 

Drouk,  to  moisten 268  xa 


3H 


GLOSSARY. 


Page  lino  col. 

Droukit,  wet,  drenched  .    .    .    .  301    22    2 

Drouth,  thirst .    .    .  10      9 

Drouthy,  thirsty    ......  91      2 

Druken,  drunken  ......  8  27 

Drumly,  muddy     ......  4  37 

Drummock,  meal  and  water  mixed 

$ppt 71  20    2 

Drunt,*jfctf,  sourhutnour    ...  45      33 

Dry,  thirsty  . 50  26 

Dubs,  small  ponds v  73  42 

Duds,  garments     ......  32  26 

Duddie,  ragged.    .• 1  20 

Duddies,  garments 48  10 

Dung,-  knocked 10  40. 

Dunted,  beat,  thu'mped  ....  126  21 

Dunts,  blows,.knocks  .....  180  12 

Durk, « <&>-£ %    .    .  11  37 

Dihht,  pushed  by  a  ra?n  or  ox     .  38      92 

Dwalling,  dwelling     .....  104      6    2 

Dwalt,  dwelt     .......  207  17 

Dyvors,   bankrupts,  disreputable 

fellows 151      52 

EARNS,  a^&ff ,  83  18    2 

Eastlin,  eastern.    .    ......     .  141  24 

Ee,  eye 25  24 

to  watch .     .  141       5 

Een,  eyes 141  33    2 

E'e  brie,  the  eyebrow 262  26 

FJen,  evening    .     : 31      6 

E'enins,  evenings  » 77  24 

Eerie,  scared,  dreading  spirits    .  179  18 

Eild,  age 26  21 

Eke,  also  .........  108  34    2 

Elbucks,  elbows      ........  29  31    2 

Eldritch,/^/*//**/..    .....  16  33 

Eleckit,  elected 126  35    2 

Eller,  an  elder  .........  248  25 

En',  end   ...,.;...•  261  22    2 

Enbrugh,  Edinburgh .     .     .    •.     .  78  40    2 

Em'brugh,  Edinburgh    .    .     .     ..  137  24    2 

Enow,  enough 5  24 

Ensuin;  ensuing     ......  54  41 

Erse,  Gaelic.    . 32  13    2 

Especial,  especially 29  13    2 

Ether-stane,  adder-stone      .    .    .-263      2    2 

Ettle,  design  ........  95  15 

Expeckit,  expected 126  31 .  3 

Expec',  expect  ....».•.  265  35. 

Eydent,  diligent 6a  30 

FA*,  lot .    »  32  2a 

F*,fall 57  23    2- 

Face't,  faced. .•    .  54  8 

Faddom't,y&///i?//^  .......  47  12 

Fae,foe    . '  . 42  33    2 

Faem,  foam •    .  '  6  28 

Faikit,  bated ,~ 103  29 

Failins,yk//z>^ .141  42 

Fair-fa',  a  benmiction     .    .    ,    .  72      x 

Fairin,  a  present,  a  reward     .     .  23^.36 

Fairly,  entirety,  completely .     ;     .  axiji&a 

Fallow,  a  fellow     ......  37  3 

Fa'n.  have  fallen 96  2 

Fan* found  ....  # ....  164  31     2 

Faod,  found .  • .  79  19    a 


Page  line  cot 

Farls,  cakes  of  oat-bread    ...  15    26 

Fash,  trouble  myself  ......  34    29 

Fash  your  thumb,  trouble  yourself 

in  the  least xo    14 

Fash't,  troubled 35      2 

Fashous,  troublesome X42      32 

Fasten-een,  Fasten' s-even   ...  75    33    2 

Fatt'rels,  ribbon-ends .    .    .    .    „  74    29 

Faught,  a  fight .......  190    12 

Fauld,  a  fold xoo      5 

Fzuldmg;  folding 96      52 

Faulding  slap,  the  gate  of  the  fold  226    i,x 

Faun,  fallen 205      4    2 

Fause, false *    .    .  129    15 

Font,  fault    ...    ^    ...    .  164    31    2" 

Faute,  fault sox    30 

Fautor,  a  transgressor    ....  »$i    12 

Fawsont,  seemly .4    14 

Fearfa',  fearful 47    ea 

Feat,  spruce 44.     z    9 

Fecht,  to  fight  ........  4    34 

Fechtin,  flghling 32    10 

Feck,  the  greater  portion    ...  14-  34 

Feckly,  mostly ..    .    .    .    ,  •  .  '  .  X04    29 
Fecket,  an  under  waistcoat  with 

sleeves  '.. •  120    x*    3 

Feckless,  powerless,  without  pith  7a.     8    9 

l*&*-£*'. 57    33 

Feide, feud 43    10 

Feirie,  clever 349    xx    a- 

Fell,  the  flesh  immediately  under 

the  skin  .........  30      53 

keen,  biting 55      x 

nippy,  tasty .63    30 

Fen,  a  successful  struggle,  a  shift  301      2    2 

Fend,  to  keep  off «5    37 

to  live  comfortably  .....  33      o 

Ferlie,  to  wonder 3    40 

a  term  of  contempt ......  74    xo 

Fetch' t,  pulled  intermittently.     .  53    25    a 

Fey,  predestined 33a    33    3 

Fidge,  to  fidget.    ......  xo    2x 

Fidgin-fain,  fldgetiing  with  eager* 

ness    . 76    13 

Fiel,  soft,  smooth 203    20    a 

Fienjt,  a  petty  oath.     The  fient  a, 

the  devil  a  bit  of  '.    ....  1x6 

Fier,  healthy,  sound 57    36 

brother,  friend  .    .    .    .    .    .  108    37 

Fiere,  friend,  comrade   ....  327      x 

Fillie,  a  filly 104    xo 

Fin'  find.    .    , 142     .2    2 

Fissle,  to  fidget 77    13    2 

Fit,  foot 45      0    3 

Fittie-Ian,  the  near  horse  of  the 

hindmost  pair  in  the  plough  .  53    25    • 
Fizz,  to  make  a  hissing  noise  like 

fermentation  ......  7    39 

Flaffan,  flapping,  fluttering   .    .  151    ra    a 

Flae,  a  flea ,  165    33    3 

Flahg,  did  fling  or  caper    ...  94    35 

FXzan&n.,  flannel 74    19    a 

FIarin,./fd:rz«^ 304      o 

Flatt'rin,  flattering    .....  73    28    a 

Fleech'd,  supplicated 180      5    a 

Fleechin,  supplicating   ....  72    16 


GLOSSARY. 


3-5 


Page  line  col. 

Fteesti,  a  fleets  .......     33  31    2 

Fleg,  d  kick,  a  random  stroke,    .  78      x 

a  sudden  motion .    ,    .    *    «    •  K44  33 

Fleth'rin,  flattering  .    ,    •    »    »  72  26 

Flewit,  ajharp  blow  1    •    •    .    .  166  16    ft 

Fley'd, scared 20  38 

Flichterm',  fluttering    ....  6a  4 

Flie,  a  fly.     ........  52  2X 

Flinders,  shreds.  x  ••«*••  -71  40 

Flinging,  capering.    .....  94  15 

Flingih-tree,  a  ./&?#    .....  38  7 

Fliskit,/r^ta/  .......  53  31     2 

Flit,  remove  ........  54  15    2 

Flittering,  fluttering .    ....  226  18 

Flyte,  to  scold  .......  263  8    2 

Fodg'el,  f?#rt/  or  plump  ....  95  34 

Foor,  to /are.    .......  267  25 

Foord,  a  ford 31  33    2 

Foorsday,  late  in  the  afternoon  .  159  1    2 

Forbears,  forefattiers .     ....  33  15 

For  bye,  besides 22  25 

Forfairn,  worn-out \  jaded    ...  26  21 

Yox{Qn^\X.^n,  fatigued    .....  125  5 
Forgather,  to  make  acquaintance 

with  .........  33  72 

Forgather'cf,  met    ......  x  6 

Forgie,  forgive  ...'...-.  72  34    2 

Vorjcsket,  jaded  with  fatigue .    .  77-  24 

Forrit,  forward , .     .  -114  52 

For't,forit  ........  23  28 

Fother,  fodder  ..*....  104  37 

Fou,  full  .........  1?  40 

tipsy ,  co  2 

a  bushel 54  10    2 

Foughten,  troubled     .....  4  45 

Fouth,  an  abundance .....  96  7 

Frae,  from 2  23 

Frammit,  estranged    .....  249  34 

Freath,  to  froth 7  39 

Fremit,  strange ;  foreign      .     .     .  164 .    4 

Frieri ,  friend 58  44 

Fright,  a  person  or  thing  of  an 

extraordinary  aspect    .    .    .  122  iz 

Fu',full 29  xz    2 

Fud,  the  scut  of  the  hare    ...  42  31     2 

FufTt,  did  blow 46  5 

Fumblin',  awtnvard 89 

Furder,  furtherance Z25  37 

Furms,  wooden  forms  or  seats .     .  18  33 

Fumicator,  fornicator     .     .     .     ..166  l     2 
Furr-ahin,  the  hindmost  horse  on 

the  right  liand  of  the  plough .  104  20 

Furrs,  furrows 14  7 

Fushionless,  pithless 249  16 

Fy,  an  exclamation  of  haste  .     .  141  15 

Fyke,  to  be  in  a  fuss  about  trifles  71  33 

Fyle,  to  soil  or  dirty 207  24     2 

Fyi'd,  dirtied .  16  3 

GAB,  to  speak  fluently  .    ...  «x  2 

the  mouth  .........  30  2 

Cabs,  tongue*    .......  44  72 

Gae,  'go    ..........  7  xx 

gave. 47  8 

Gaed,  walked   ........  14  16 

went.    .........  15  14 


^Page'linc  col. 

Gaen,  gone 21  35 

Gaets,  manners*. 33  11 

Gairs,  triangular  pieces  of  cloth 

inserted  at  t/te  bottom  of  a 

shift  or  robe 246  9    2 

Gane,  gone 19  21 

Gang,  to  go 1  12 

Gangrel,  -vagrant 48  8 

Gapin,  gaping 141  13 

Gar,  to  make      ........  ix  8 

Gar't,  made 53  22    2 

Garten,  garter »    \  44  62 

Gash,  sagacious 1  29 

Gashin,  conversing 45  21     2 

Gat,  got    .........  31  32 

Gate,  ma7iner   .......  4  43 

way  or  road  .......  4  46 

Gatty,  gouty .    .  126  15    a 

Gaucie,  comfortable  looking    .    .  x8  37 

Gaud,  the  plough  shaft  ....  233  3 
Gaudsman,  apioughboy,  the  boy  who 

drives  the  horses  in  the  plough  104  .3"§ 

Gaun,  going 4  z\ 

Gaunted,  yawned no  28 

Gawcie,  jolly,  large 1  35 

Gawkies,  foolish  persons.     ...  122  19 

Gaylies,  pretty  well 151  24 

Gear,  wealth,  goods 4  46 

Weel-hain'd  gear,  well  saved    .  27  41 

drink 151  33 

Geek,  to  toss  the  head  in  wanton' 

ness  or  scorn 37  10 

Geds.pike 42  26    2 

Gentles,  great  folks    .....  7  20 

Genty,  slender 211  31 

Geordie,  George.    The  yellow  let- 
ter d  Geordie,  a  guinea     .    .  2  22 

Get,  offspring    . 33  27    2 

Ghaists*  ghosts  . 20  6 

Gie,  give 9  19 

Gied,  gave    .     . 32  23 

Gien,  given 71  37 

Gi'en,  given 14  34 

Gies,  give  us 2x  8 

Oirjf. 45  S 

Giftie,  dim.  of  gift 74  30    2 

Giglets,  playful  children     .    .    .  101  23 

Gillie,  dim.  of  gill 71  41    2 

Gilpey,  a  young  girl 46  21 

Gimmer,  a  ewe  from  one  to  two 

years  old 23  17 

Gin,  if 15  7 

Gipsie,  gipsy iox  7 

Girdle,  a  circular  plate  of  iron 

for  toasting cakes  on  the  fire.  48  14 

Gim,  to  grin 33  35    2 

Girrs,  hoops 264  2    2 

Gizz,  a  wig 32  2G 

Glaikit,  thoughtless 4-3° 

Glaizie,  glittering 53  9 

Glamor,  glamour 95  82 

Glaum'd,  grasped  ......  23°  3° 

Glcd,  a  kite 216  19 

Gleed,  a  live  coal 252  19    2 

Gleg,  sharp 43  25    a 

Cleverly,  swiftly 96  1    2 


3<* 


GLOSSARY. 


Page  line  col. 

Gleib,  a  glebe 203  10 

Glib-gabbet,  that  speaks  smoothly 

and  readily    ........  11  19 

Glinted,  glanced 69  15 

Glintin,  gcanc.ng 14      6 

Gloamin,  tzvilight  .     .          ...  6  10 

Gloamin-shot,  a  twilight  interview  255  41 

Glowran,  staring 52,      3 

Glowr'd,  looked  earnestly,  stared .  14  10 

Glunch,  a  frown    ......  8  39 

Goavan,  looking  round  -with  a 
strange  inquiring  gaze,  star- 
ing stupidly     Ill  10    2 

Gotten,  got 79      8 

Gowan,  the  daisy 191  30 

Gowany,  daisied 114  16    2 

Gowd,  gold 81  25 

Gowden,  golden 114  12    2 

GowfF d,knoc.ked hither  and  thitlier  222  26 

Gowk,  a  foolish  person    ....  26  19 

Gowling,  howling  ......  73  26    2 

Graff,  a  grave 167      1     2 

Grained,  grinned 22  37 

Graip,  a  pronged  instrument  for 

cleaning  stables  ....  46      62 

Gralth,  harness,  field  implements  7  38 

accoutrements 15  19 

Granes,  groans 5  20 

Grape,  to  grope .    ......  44  12    2 

Graped,  £7Y^W 171  2i 

Grapit,  groped 45  25    2 

Grat,  wept 180  10    2 

Gratefu',  grateful 72  23    2 

Graunie,  grandmother    ....  31  25 

Gree,  a  prize     .......  79.  35 

to  agree 132"  31    2 

Gree't,  agreed i.  21      6 

Greet,  to  weep .  11      6 

Greetin,  'weeping 10  25 

Griens,  covets,  longs  for .    .     .     .  271  32 

Grievin,  grieving 43  24 

Grippet,  gripped,  taught  hold  of .  45  14 

Grissle,  gristle 77  12    2 

Grit,  great 131  22 

Grozet,  a  gooseberry 74  13    2 

Grumphie,  the  sow 46  32    2 

Grun',  the  ground 131  34 

Grunstane,  a  grindstone  ....  73  32 

Gruntle,  the  countenance     ...  8  39 

a  grunting  noise 46  20     2 

Grunzie,  the  mouth 207  22     2 

Grushie,  thick,  of  thriving  growth  3  30 

Grusome,  ill  favoured    ....  170      1 

Grutten,  wept 137  10    2 

Gude,  the  S7il>reme  Being  ...  33      62 

good' 50      6    2 

Gudeen,  good  even 164      8    2 

Gudeman,  goodman 20  43 

Gudes,  goods,  merchandise .     ..  271  12    2 

Guid,  good 4      6 

Guid-e'en,  good  even 20  31 

Guid-mormn,  good  morning     .     .  36  10 

Qyxi&izxhex,' father-in-law-  ...  53  20 

Guid  wife,  tne  mistress  of the  house  125      x 

the  landlady  ..;....  201  33    2 

Gully,  a  large  knife    .    .    .    .     .  30  42 


•  JPage  line  co?. 

Gulravage,  riot 128  3 

Gumlie,  muddy,  discoloured    .     .  .  26  38 

Gumption,  -understanding  .     ,     .  141  12     2 

Gusty,  tasteful 7  36 

Gutcher,  grandfather     ....  254  25    2 

HA',  hall 95  72 

Ha'  Bible,  hall-Bible 63  38 

Ha'  folk,  servants 2  26 

Haddin,  holding,  inheritance  .     .  270  11     2 

Hae,  have 4  10 

here  (in  the  sense  of  lake)      .     .  151  41     2 
Haet,  the  least  thing.     Deil  haet, 

an  oath  of  negation ....  5  34 

Damn'd  haet,  nothing .    ...  21  34 

H.al{,  the  half 165  31 

Haff,'  the  half 140  22    2 

Haffets,  the  temples 63  40 

Haffet  locks,  locks  at  the  temples  257  18 

Hafflins,  partly 62  44 

Hafflins-wise,  almost  half  .     .     .  17  26 
Hag,  a  scar,  or  gulf  in  mosses  and 

moors 43  7 

Haggis,   a  kind  cf  pudding  boiled 

in  the  stomach  of  a  cow  or 

sheep 72  24    2 

Hain,  to  spare,  to  save    .     .    '.     .  79  9 

Hain'd,  spared 54  16    2 

Hairst,  harvest 46  19 

Haith,  a  petty  oath 4  21 

Haivers,  idle  talk 125  14 

Hal',  Art//. 57  14    2 

Hald,  an  abiding-place   ....  54  28    2 
Hale,  whole,  entire  ;  Hale  breeks,, 

breeches  without  holes  ...  9  20 

uninjured , 95  17 

Haly,  holy 93  36 

Hall  an,    a  partiaclar  partition 

wall  in  a  cottage 63  29 

Hallions,  clowns,  common  fellows  151  1     2 

Hallowmas,  the  31st  of  October    .165  8 

Hame,  home 23  23 

Hamely,  homely 53  29 

Han',  hand 9  15 

Han'  afore,  tlie  foremost  horse  on 

the  left  hand  in  the  ploitgh    .  104  8 
Han'  ahin,  the  hindmost  horse  on 

tlie  left  hand  in  the  plough    .  104  10 

Hand-breed,  a  hand-breadth  .     .  207  13    2 
Hand-waled,  carefully  chosen  by 

hand 148  29    2 

^landless,  without  hands,  useless, 

awkward 164  35    2 

Hangit,  hanged 251  6    2 

Hansel,   hansel  throne,  a  throne 

newly  inherited 234  27 

a  gift  for  a  particular  season, 

or  the  first    money  on   any 

particular  occasion  .     .     .     .  236  28 

Han't,  handed 204  39 

Hap,  to  wrap '71  32 

Winter  hap,  winter  clothing     .  24  25 

Hap,  /top 150  28 

Ha'pence,  /ia  If -pence 15  29 

Happer,  a  hopper 41  25 

Happing,  hopping $5  19 


GLOSSARY. 


sn 


Page  line  col. 
Hap-step-anMowp,  hop,  step,  and 

jump,  with  a  light  airy  step .  14  .23 

Harkit,  hearkened 38  25 

Ham,  yam   ........  94  27 

Har'sts,  harvests 101      2    2 

Hash.,  a  soft,  useless  fellow.     .     .  8  27 

Hash'd,  did  smite,  did  disfigure  .  230      1     2 
Haslock,  descriptive  of  the  finest 
wool,  being  the  lock  that  grows 

on  the  hals  or  throat     .     .     .  256      9    2 

Has't,  has  it 22  22 

,  Hastit,  hasted    ,.    .'....     .  54  11 

Haud,  to  hold   ,♦•.»...  9  15 

would  keep'.    ...«...-.  96      9 

7?auds,  holds,    j 223  25 

Hauf,  t lie  half 161      7    2 

Haughs,  low- lying  lands,  meadows  6  29 
Hauns,  hands,  as  applied  to  work- 
man, persons    103  29 

Haurl,  to  drag  ..*....  83  19 

Haurls,  drags 46      8    2 

Haurlin,  peeling,  dragging  off .     .  47  19 

Hauver,  oatmeal 262  17 

Havins,  good  manners    ....  33  22 

Hav'rel,  half-witted 44  14    2 

Hawkie,  a  cow,  properly  one  with 

a  white  face 31  23    2 

Healsome,  wholesome      ....  63  27 

Heapet,  heaped . 41  25 

Heapit,  heaped .     .  54  11     2 

Hearin',  hearing 149  l4 

Hearse,  hoarse .     .  9  31 

Hear't,  hear  it 76  13 

Heartie,  dim.  of  Jieart    ....  50  34  ,  2 

Hech,  an  exclamation  of  wonder  4  43 

Hecht,  foretold 47  11 

offered '  182  21 

Hechtin',  making  to  pant    .     .     .  177  4    2 
Heckle,  a  board,  in   which  are 
fixed  a  number  of  sharp  pins, 
used  in  dressing  hemp,  flax, 

&*c. 101  25 

Hee  balou,  a  term  used  by  nurses 

when  lulling  children   .     .     .  255  I     2 

Heels-o'er-gowdy,  head  over  heels  121  13    2 

Heeze,  to  elevate,  to  hoist  ...  65  24 

Heft,  haft     , '  .  93  46 

Hein  shinn'd,  in-shinned     .     .     .  207  12    2 

Hellim,  the  helm 221  2    2 

Hen-broo,  hen-broth 276  2     2 

Herriet,  harried <  151  22 

Herrin,  herring 23  34 

Herryment,  f  hindering,  devasta- 
tion      v .     .  27  39 

Hersel,  herself 23  21 

Het,  hot.    Gie  him'l  het,  give  him 

it  hot .     .  • 12  9 

Heugh,  a  coalpit 31  15 

a  steep 263  11     2 

Heuk,  a  reaping-hook     .     .     ..    .  248  16 

Hich,  high 254  26    2 

Hidin',  hiding. t.    .  71  21     2 

Hie,  high •    .  200  30    2 

HiAch,  to  hobble 58  41    2 

Hilchin,  halting     .......  46  27    2 

Hill-tap,  hill-top    ......  244  *  1 


Pag*  line  col. 

Hiltle  skiltie,  helter skelter,    .    .  103    it    a 

Himsel,  himself    .......  z    %^ 

Hiney,  honey     ........  202    xi 

Hing,  to  hang /      29    21    a 

Hingin',  hanging no      52 

Hinging,  hanging  ......  239      a    a 

Hirples,  walks  with difficulty .     ,  264      9 

Hirplin,  limping ,  14      7 

Hissels,  hissel,  so  many  cattle  as 

one  person  can  attend   ...  80    3a 

Histie,  dry,  barren     •....,  69    23 

Hitch,  a  loop  or  knot ......  32    31 

Hizzies,  young  women    ;    .    ,    ,  33 

Hoast,  a' cough 9      9 

Hoble,  to  hobble 53       1     3 

Hoddin,  the  motion  of  a  man  on 

horseback 15    20 

Hoggie,  a  young  sheep  after  it  is 

smeared  and  before  it  is  shorn  269    25 
Hog-score,  a  kind  of  distance-line 

drawn  across  the  rink  ...  42    21    2 
Hog-shouther,   a  kind  of  horse- 
play   by  justling  with    the 

shoulder 79    26    a 

Hol't,  holed,  perforated  .     .     ,  50    34    2 

Hoodie-craw,  Hie  hoodedtrow.     .  '122    10    2 

Hoodock,  miserly 148    30  *  2 

Hool; ,  the-  outer  skin  or  case     .    .  47    10    2 

Hoolie  !  stop ! 34      4    2 

Hoord,  hoard .  31     31     2 

Hoordet,  hoarded 4S    '9 

Horn,  a  spoon  made  of  Jwm    .    .  72    19 

a  comb  made  of  horn  ....  74    26 

Hornie,  Satan 16    23 

Host,  a  cough    .......  157     12    3 

Hostin,  coughing   ......  35      5 

Hotch'd,fidgelted 94    40 

Houghmagandie,</&r/«Va//0X  .     .  19    26 

Houlets,  owls 84    31 

Housie,  dim.  of  house*    ....  54    37 

HovM,  swelled  ........  23    20 

Howdie,  a  midwife    .....  8    1! 

Howe,  hollowly .......  20    37 

a  hollow  or  dell 33    21    3 

Howe-backit,  sunk  in  the  back    ,  53      3 

Howes,  hollows 147    33 

Howkit,  digged 3      4 

dtigup 31     18    a 

Howlet-faced,  faced  like  an  owl  .  176    25 

Hoyse,  hoist 30    16    i 

Hoy'tj  urged 47    to 

Hoyte,  to  amble  crazily  ....  53      t     3 

Hughoc,  Hugh 32    34 

Hunder,  a  hundred 94      8 

Hunkers,  hams .     ......  51     33 

Huntit,  /united 230     22     3 

Hurcheon,  a  hedgcliog    .     .     ►    .  83    20 

Hurchin,  an  urchin    .....  51     28     3 

Hurdies,  hips I     36 

Hurl,  to  fall  down  ruinously   .    .  26    37 

to  ride 159      42 

Hushion,  a  cushion 307    2a 

Hyte,  mad 149    to 

ICKER,  an  ear  of  corn.     ...  54    33 

Icr'oe,  a  great-grandchild  ...  7J    49    I 


3'« 


GLOSSARY. 


Page  line  col. 

Ilk,  each 38      5 

Ilka,  every 1     32 

Ill-willie,  ill-natured 71     38     2 

Indentin,  indenturing     ....  4     20 

Ingine,  genius,  ingenuity    ...  76     16 

ingle-cheek,  the  fireside .     ...  38     13 

Ingle-lowe,  the  liousehohl  fire  .     .  38       32 

In's,  in  his 25  46 

In't,  in  it 231  41 

I'se,  /  shall  or  will 78  37 

Isna,  is  not 121       12 

lther,  otlier 2       i 

Itsel,  itself 137      9    2 

J  AD,  a  jade 29  40 

J  ads,  jades 5  48 

Janwar,  January 236  27 

J  auk,  to >  dally,  to  trifle  ....  62  31 

Jaukin,  trifling,  dallying    ...  45  29    2 

Jauner,  foolish  talk 254  30     2 

Tauntie,  dim.  of  jaunt    ....  108  11 

[aups,  splashes 26  38 

[aw,  to  pour 221       62 

fillet,  a  jilt 71  15     2 

[imp,  tojtitnp 58  41     2 

slender 200  14 

J imps,  a  kind  of  easy  stays      .     .  246  11     2 

Jimpy,  neatly 211  31    2* 

Jink,  to  dodge 6  24 

Jinker,  that  turns  quickly  ...  53      32 

Tinkers,  gay,  sprightly  girls    .     .  149      8 

Jinkin,  dodging 32  19    2 

Jirkinet,  an  outer  jacket  01  jerkin 

worn  by  women 246  n     2 

Jirt,  a  jerk 78       1 

Jo,  sweetheart,  a  term  expressing 
affection  and  some  degree  of 

familiarity 164      42 

Jobbin' ',  jobbing 166  24 

Joctelegs,  clasp-knives    ....  45      6 

Joes,  lovers 114      4 

Johnny  Ged's  Hole,   the  grave- 
digger     22  31 

Jokin,  joking 75  35    2 

Jorum,  the  jug 208  21     2 

Jouk,  to  duck 35  33     2 

to  make  obeisance 270  21 

Jow,  to  swing  and  sound    ...  19  11 

Jlumpit,  jumped 43      9 

Jundie,  to  jus  tie 79  26    2 

KAES,  daws 12  39 

Kail,  broth 12  38 

Kail-blade,  the  leaf  of  the  colewort  22  9 

Kail-runt,  the  stem  of  the  colewort  21  46 

Kain,  farm  produce  paid  as  rent .  2  16 

Kebars,  rafters 49      1 

Kebbuck,  a  cheese  .     .....  18  39 

Kebbuck-heel,  the  remaining  por- 
tion of  a  cheese 19      7 

Keckle,  to  cackle,  to  laugh  .     .     .  101  23 

K  eekin'-glass,  a  looking-glass  .     .  176  27 

Keekit,  peeped 236  22 

Keeks,  peeps 2  22 

Keepit,  kept 18 

Kelpies,  water-spirits     ....  25  38 


Page  line  cot 

Ken,  know    ..%..♦..  4    21 

Kend,  known 31     14 

Kenn'd,  known  ....,,,  19    30 

Kennin,  a  little  bit 42      3    9 

Kent,  knezu   ....,.,.  3       f 
Kep,    to    catch    anything    when 

falling 84     44 

Ket,  a  fleece       .     . 33    28    9 

Kiaugh,  anxiety     ......  62       8 

Kickm',  kicking     ......  122     n     2/ 

Kilbagie,  the  name  of  a  certain 

kind  of  whisky    »     ,     ♦     ,     ,  51     15     j 

Killie,  Kilmarnock     .    .     .     .     .  43     22     9 

Kilt,  to  tnck  up II     42 

Kimmer,  a  girl ,  78     it 

Km',  kind     .          33       | 

King's-hood,  a  part  of  the  entrails 

of  an  ox 2t     24 

K intra,  country      ......  124      42 

K intra  cooser,  a  country  stallion .  111     13 

Kirn,  a  churn 31     20    ) 

Kirns,  harvest-homes.     ....  3    42 

Kirsen,  to  christen 77     |] 

Kissin',  kissing 276      3 

Kist,  a  shop  counter 78     14 

Kitchen,  anything  that  eats  with 
bread  to  serve  for  soup  or 

gravy 163     It 

K\\.chzns,seasons,  makes  palatable  f    24 

Kittle,  to  tickle 17    44 

ticklish 27    45 

Kittlin,  a  kitten      ......  47    20 

Kiutlin,  cuddling 45     17 

Knaggie,  like  knags,  or  points  of 

rock 53      3 

Knappin-hammers,  hammers  for 

breaking  stones 76     12     9 

Knowe,  a  hillock 28 

Knurl,  a  churl 182    19 

Knurlin,  a  dwarf 1x4     15 

Kye,  cows 6    12 

Kyle,  a  district  oj  Ayrshire    .     .  71     37 

Kytes,  bellies 72    2 1 

Kythe,  discover 44      3    » 

LADDIE,  a  lad    .    .    .    :  C"    .  49      8 

Lade,  a  load 90    22 

Laggen,  the  angle  between  the  side 

and  bottom  of  a  wooden  dish  37    40    2 

Laigh,  lo7v 29    it 

Laik,  tack 199    27 

Lair,  lore 17    39 

Lairing,  wading  and  sinking  in 

snow  or  mud 55     17 

Laith,  loth 54    23 

Laithfu',  bashful 63      4 

Lallan,  lowland 32     13     2 

Lambie,  dim.  of  lamb.    ....  14    20 

Lampit,  limpet ."  to    30 

Lan',  land,  estate  .,...»  2     32 

Lane,  alone   ........  42    24 

Lanely,  lonely •    .  31     26 

Lang,  long    ..»•••••  128 

Langer,  longer •    .  t6    38 

Lap,  did  leap t     30 

Laughin,  laughing 21     27 


GLOSSARY 


3'9 


Page  line  col, 

Lave,  the  rest 41  25    2 

Lav* rocks,  larks 14      8 

Lawin,  shot,  reckonings  bill     .     .  201  33 

Lawlan',  lowland 50  38 

Lazie,  lazy 148  39 

Lea'e,  leave- 33  12    2 

Leal,  true 44      42 

Lea-rig,  a  grassy  ridge  •.     .     .     .  179  15 

Lear,  lore,  learning 7  13 

Lee,  the  lea 84      1 

Lee-lang,  live-long     .....  38      8 

Leesome,  pleasant  %    .    .     .    .  . .'  204      5    2 

Leeze  me,  a  phrase  of  congratula* 
tory  endearment,  I  am  happy 

in  thee,  *r  proud  of  thee    .     .  203  ij    2 
Leister,  a  three-barbed  instrument 

for  sticking  fish 20  23 

Len',  lend 201  34 

Leugh,  laughed.,    .......  29  36 

Leuk,  look,  appearance  ....  18      5 

Ley  crap,  lea  crop 277  29 

Libbet,  gelded no  6    2 

Licket,  beating 103  27 

Lickit,  licked  with  desire     .     .     .  164  40 
Licks,  a  beating.    Gat  his  licks, 

got  a  beating 80  .3    2 

Liein,  telling  lies   .    .     .    .     .     .  127  30 

Lien,  lain 164      1 

Lift,  heaven 55  4 

a  large  quantity 78  26 

Lightly,  to  undervalue,  to  slight .  185  38 

Liken,  to  compare 28  3 

Lilt,  sing 29  26 

Limbies,  dim.  of  limbs   ....  108  35 

Limmer,  a  kept  mistress     ...  5  8 

a  strumpet 78  9 

Limpit,  limped ,....,.  43  7 

"Lin,  a  waterfall ;  83  27    2 

Linket,  tripped  deftly     ....  94  6 

Linkin,  tripping 32  17    2 

Linn,  a  waterfall 47  28 

hint,  flax.    Sin  lint  was  i*  the  bell, 

since  flax  was  in  flower   .    .  63  34 

Linties,  linnets 147  34 

Lippened,  trusted ......  108  19 

Lippie,  dim.  of  lip 206  25 

Loan,  milking  place 6  12 

lane 194  25 

Lo'ed,  loved 92  1 

Lon'on,  London 3  40 

"Loof ,  palm  of  the  hand  .     ...  38  32 

Loosome,  lovesome      .....  133  10    2 

Loot,  did  let 47  16 

hooves,  palms 73  36 

Losh,  a  petty  oath 165  25 

Lough,  a  lake    .......  31  42 

Louns,  ragamatjfins    .....  80  25     2 

Loup,  to  leap 150  8    2 

Lovin',  loving 141  3 

how,  flame 268  10 

Lowan;  flaming     ......  52  37 

Lowin,  blazing  .......  x8  20 

Lowpin,  leaping 180  11    2 

Lowping,  leaping  ......  94  15 

Lows'd,  loosed    .......  32  2    2 

Lowse,  to  loosen 52  Jl.   2 


_        .                         ,  Page  Urn  col. 
Luckie,  a  designation  applied  to 

an  elderly  woman    ....  254    29    a> 

Lug,  the  ear .........  28    30 

to  produce,  to  bring  out.  ...  99    3  \ 

Lugget,    eared.      Lugget    caup, 

eared  cup 7    40 

Luggies,  smallwooden  dishes  with 

handles 47     16    a 

Luke,  look •  .     .  104    33    a 

Lum,  the  chimney 45    34 

Lunardie,  a  bonnet  called  after 

Lunardi  the  aeronaut  *    .     .  74    22    a 

Lunt,  a  column  of  smoke    ...  46      5 

Luntin,  smoking 4      5 

Luve,  love -    .    .  202      6 

Luvers,  lovers 204    28 

hyaxt,  grey 14    is 

Lynin,  lining 256    16    a 

MAE,  more 22    30 

Mair,  more    ........  23    ia 

Maist,  almost 2    45 

that  nearly ,'  32    24 

Maistly,  mostly 3      a 

Mak,  make 3    34 

Makin,  making.    .......  x8      6 

Mailie,  Molly    .......  3a    29 

•  Mailins,  _/%??«.? 141      6    a 

Mang,  among 16    24 

Manse,  a  parsonage  house  .    .    ,  17    23 

Manteels,  mantles 14    24 

Mark,' marks 53    22 

Mar's  year,  1715,  the  year  of  Mar's 

rebelliofi 47    20    a 

Mashlum,  mixed  corn     ....  12    14 

Maskin-pat,  a  tea-pot 221      52 

Maukin,  a  hare.    ......  38      3 

Maun,  must .  2    46 

Maunna,  must  not , 179    31 

,  Maut,  malt 200     17     a 

Mavis,  t/ie  thrush 85    23 

Mawin,  mowing    ......  20    31 

Mawn,  a  basket .  264      8    a 

mown 204 .  13 

Maybe,  perhaps 4    27 

Meere,  a  mare  .    * 53    20 

Meikle,  as  muck ,52      6 

Melder,  com  or  grain  of  any  kind 

sent  to  t/ie  mill  to  be  ground  91    23 

Mell,  to  meddle.     .......  8    35 

Mel  vie,  to  soil with  mud    ...  19      4 

Men',  mend 32    22    a 

Mense,  good  manners     ....  26      9 

Mess  John,  the  clergyman  .    .    .  164  .  39 

Messin,  a  dog  of  mixed  breeds.    .  x     to 

Midden,  the  dunghill.     .     .     .     .  137    30 

Midden-creels,  dunghill  baskets  »  207    23    9 

Midden-hole,  the  dunghill  ...  47      7 

Midge,  a  gnat 272      3 

Mim,  prim 17    15 

Mim-mou' d,  prim-mouthed.    .    .  .157      2    a 

Min,  remembrance      .     .     .     .     •  226    26    3 

Min',  mind .     .  45     10    a 

Minds  me,  remembers  me  .    ..  _t  206      7    2 

Mind't-na,  cared  not  .    .    .     .    .t  49    37- 

Minnie,  mother. !&,& 


3*o 


GLOSSARY. 


Page  line  col. 

Mirk,  dark 181       9    2 

Misca'd,  abused 29    19 

Misguidin',  misguiding  .     .     .  ' .  71  23 
Mishanter,    misfortune t  disaster, 

calamity 140    19 

Miska't,  abused.     ..,.♦.  128  25 

Mislear'd,  mischievous    ♦    .     .    .  21      2 

Mist,  missed .    .......  47  12    2 

Misteuk,  mistook 50      7 

Mither,  mother 13  37 

Mixtie-maxtie,  confusedly  mixed .  12  23 

Mizzl'd,  having  different  colours  137  15    2 

Moistify,  to  make  moist ....  13  38 

Mony,  many 3  12 

Mools,  the  earth  of  graves  .     .     .  101       32 

Moop,  to  nibble ' .    ,  33      92 

to  keep  company  with  ....  247  24    2 

Moor  Ian',  moorland 79  38    2 

Moss,  a  morass 32      1 

Mou,  mouth 45  16    2 

Moudieworts,  moles 24 

Mousie,  dim.  of  mouse    ....  54  31     2 

Movin',  moving.    ..*...  170  15 

Muckle,  great,  big 10  11 

much 27  43 

Musie,  dim.  of  muse 78  40 

Muslin-kail,  brothcomposed  simply 
of  water,  shelled  barley,  and 

greens 35  27    2 

Mutchkin,  an  English  pint.     .     .  10  26 

Mysel,  myself 23  41 

NA\w* 5  14 

no 42.  21 

Nae,  no .  i  16 

Naebody,  nobody   *.    .    ,    .     .    .  79  24 

Naething,  nothing 20  34 

Naig,  a  nag  ........  72  26    2 

Naigies,  dim.  of  nags     ....  184  16    2 

Nane,  none 1  10 

Nappy,  ale 3  33 

Natch,  grip,  hold.    To  natch,  to 

lay  hold  of  violefitly     .     .     .  165  31 

Near't,  near  it 76  17 

Neebors,  neighbours 8  13 

Needna,  need  not  ......  22  38 

Negleckit,  neglected 11 1      6 

Neist,  next 180  23 

Neuk,  nook,  corner 18      7 

New-ca'd,  newly  driven .     .     .     .  77  18 

Nick,  to  break,  to  sever  suddenly  21  12 

Nickan,  cutting 12s  40 

Nicket,  cut  oft 96      32 

caught,  cut  off 120      2     2 

Nick-nackets,  curiosities      ...  96      7 

Nicks,  knocks,  bloxvs 80      22 

Auld  crnmmie's  nicks,  marks  on 

the  horn  of  a  cow      ....  132  29 

Niest,  next S  44 

Nievc-fu',  a  fist-full 78  20     2 

thieves,  fsts 23      8 

Niffer,  exchange 41  20    2 

Niger,  a  negro  .......  29  37 

Nits,  nuts     ........  44  16 

Nocht,  nothing 90      7 

Norland,  Northland  .....  11  23 


Page  line  cot. 

Notet,  noted .    .......  104  35    » 

Nowte,  cattle 4  34 

0\  of  .    . .  t      t 

O'erlay, an  outside dress, an  overall  268      a     2 
O'erword,  any  term  frequently  re- 
peated, a  refrain 153  11     2 

Ony,  any ,     .  6  '    6 

Orra,  supernumerary .     ....  48  10 

O't,  of  it 3  24 

O'ts,  of  it  ft 165  26 

Ought,  aught,  anything  ....  232       x 

Oughtlins,  anything  in  the  least  .  m  12 

Ourie,  shivering 55  14 

Oursel,  ourselves 19  38 

Out-cast,  a  quarrel 126  35 

Outler,  un-housed 47      82 

Owre,  over' i  36 

too 4  11 

Owrehip,  a  way  of  fetching  a  blow 
with  the  hammer  over   the 

arm 8      3 

Owsen,  oxen 179  11 

PACK,  pack  an'  thick,  on  friendly 

or  intimate  terms     ....  22 

Packs,  twelve  stones  .....  32  38    2 

Paidle,  to  paddle I04  26    2 

Paidles,  wanders  about  without 

object  or  motive 249  13    2 

Paidl't,  paddled 226  38 

Painch,  paunch,  stomach     ...  2  33 

Paitricks,  partridges 42  29    2 

Pangs,  crams #  .  17  40 

Parishen,  the  parish  .     .     .     .  *  .  256  20    2 
Parritch,  oatmeal  boiled  in  water, 

stirabout 7  23 

Parritch-pats,  porridge-pots     .     .  96  1 1 

Pat,  Put 20  20 

apot 45  30    2 

Pattle,  a  plough-staff 54  24 

Paughty,  haughty  ......  37  10    2 

Paukie,  cunning,  sly  .....  34      1 

Pay't,/a/tf    . 53  17  .j 

Pechan,  tlie  stomach 2  26 

Pec.hin,  panting 157  16 

Peel,  a  tower \     ,  248  13     1 

Peelin,  peeling 30  62 

Penny  wheep,  small  beer    ...  17  41 

Petticoatie,  dim.  of  petticoat   .     .  254  3 

Pettle,  a  plough-staff 104  7 

Phraisin,  flattering 78  41 

Pickle,  a  small  quantity      ...  46  37     2 

Pit,/"/ 2  33 

Pits,  puts  .........  45  1 1     2 

Placads,  public  proclamations.     .  222  11 
Plack,    an    old   Scotch  coin,    the 

third  part  of  a  Scotch  penny. 

twelve    of   which    make    an 

English  penny 8  12     2 

Pladie,  dim.  of  plaid 210  27 

Plaiden,  plaiding 248  19 

Plaister,  to  plaister 36  29    2 

Platie,  dim.  of  plate 61 

Pleugh,  plough 5  27 

Pliskie,  a  trick  .......  1  x  38 


GLOSSARY. 


3*1 
4»» 


Page  line  col. 

Pliver,  a  plover •  51  29 

Piumpit,  plumped ,  47-  13 

Pocks,  wallets 52  35 

Poind,  to  seize  for  sequestration  .  3  16 

Poind't,  poinded 151  22 

Poortith,  poverty    ..*....  3  22 

Posie,  a  bouquet 205  10 

Pou,  to  pull 44  16 

Pouchie,  dim.  of  Pouch  .    ,    .    .  103  9    ? 

Pouk,  to  pluck 2i  28 

Poupit,  t/te pulpit 137  3X 

Pouse,  a  push 165  18    2 

Poussie,  a  hare 75  35 

Pou't,  Pulled 44  16    2 

Pouts,  poults,  chicks 81  23    2 

Pouther'd,  powdered 157  2    2 

Pouthery,  powdery 57  6 

Pow,  the  head,  the  skull.     ...  78  4 

Pownie, a  pony,  a  small  Iiorse      .  76  27 

Powther,  powder 13  14 

Praise  be  blest,  an  expression  of 

thankfulness  .......  265  21     2 

Prayin,  praying 73  22    2 

Pree,  to  taste  .. 200  18    2 

Preen,  -a  pin 80  1 

Prent,  print 34  22 

PridetV,  prideful ♦  45  52 

Prie'd,  tasted .  45  16    2 

Prief,  proof 34  5 

Priestie,  dim.  of  priest    ....  157  22 

Priggin,  haggling 28  9 

Primsie,  de7nure,  precise      ...  45  22 

Propone,  to  propose 41  26 

Provesos,  'provosts 27  20 

Pu\  to  pull    .     ., 205  10 

Pu'd,  pulled 206  17 

Puddin',  a  pudding 72  2 

Puddock-stools,  mushrooms     .     .  122  21 

Pund,  pounds 54  17 

Pursie,  dim.  of  purse 50  31 

Pyet,  the  magpie 141  29    2 

Pyke,  to  pick 51  14 

Pyles,  grams 41  24 

QUAICK,  quack 31  92 

Quat,  quit 36  72 

quitted 96  4 

Quaukin,  quaking  ......  45  31     2 

Quey,  a  cautfrom  one  year  to  two 

years  old 47  82 

Quo',  quoth 165  5 

RAD,  afraid 164  8 

Rade,  rode .     .  239  19 

Ragweed,  the  plant  ragwort  .     .  31  14     2 

Raibles,  rattles,  nonsense    ...  17  20 

Rair,  to  roar 84  24 

Wad  rair't,  would  have  roared .  53  35     2 

Rairin,  roaring 18  11 

Raise,  rose     ........  222  27 

Raize,  to  madden,  to  inflame  .     .  53  11 

Ramblin,  rambling 5  5 

~Ra.mfccA'd,  fatigued 77  3° 

Ramgunshock,  rugged    .     .     ...  255  23 

Ks.m-ata.rn,  forward  ....*.  36  9 

Randie,  quarrelsome  •    .    •    .    •  48  8 


Randy,  w  term  of  opprobrium 

generally  applied  to  a  woman  255  38 

Ranklin',  rankling     .     .     .     .    #  x$i  4 
Ranting,   noisy,  full  of  animal 

spirits ,  t  24 

"Rants,  jollifications   .....  7  26 

Rape,  a  rope 30  x6 

Raploch,  coarse.     ......  103  17'   a 

Rash,  a  rush      .......  72  89 

Rash-buss,  a  bush  of  rushes    .    .  31  53 

Rattan,  a  rat 121  29 

Rattons,  rats 38  1 7 

Raucle,  fearless 12  25 

Raught,  readied 46  19 

Raw,  a  row 15  41 

Rax,  to  stretch 29  9 

Rax'd,  stretched  out,  extended   .  in  6 

Raxin,  stretching 128  22 

Ream,  cream 4  3 

Rebute,  a  rebut,  a  discomfiture  .  262  13    8 

Red,  counsel .     .......  20  41 

Red-wud,  stark  mad "39 

Reekin,  smoking 7  33 

Reekit,  smoked .......  94  2 

smoky 32  26 

Reeks,  smokes    .     .          ....  43 

Reestit,  withered,  singed    ...  32  so 

stood  restive 54  7 

Reflec',  reflect 137  17 

Reif  randies,  sturdy  beggars    .     .  208  16 

Remead,  remedy 12  6 

Remuve,  7-emove 205  33 

Respeckit,  respected 126  33    0 

Restricked,  restricted     ....  70  26 

Rew,  to  take  pity 204  13    2 

Rickles,  stocks  of  grain  .     .     .     .  126  2 

Rig,  a  ridge 54  16    3 

Riggin,  rafters 38  18. 

Rigwooddie,  withered,  sapless.     .  94  14 

Rin,  run .     .  n  45 

Rink,  the  course  of  the  stones,  a 

term  in  curling         ....  42  x9     a 

Rinnin,  running    ...  46  26    ! 

Ripp.a  handful ofunthrashedcom  53  2 
Ripple,  weakness  in  the  back  and 

reins X41  20 

Ripplin-kame,  a  flax-comb .     .     ,  255  33 

Ripps,  /taudfuls 33  10 

Riskit,  made  a  noise  like  the  tear- 
ing of  roots 53  35    * 

Rive,  to  burst    .          72  23 

Rives,  tears  to  pieces 4  32 

Rives't,  tears  it 8i  18 

Roastin',  roasting 141  24    2 

Rock,  a  distaff.     ......  203  18     2 

Rockin,   a  social  gathering,   the 
women  spinning  on  the  rock 

or  distaff 75  33     2 

Roon,  round .     .......  80  15 

Roos'd,  praised 233  6 

Roosc.  to  praise 72  27 

Roosty,  rusty     , 51  27 

Roun',  round 62  II 

Roupet,  hoarse  as  ~<uith  a  cold .     .  9  31 

Routhie,  well  filled,  abundant     .  26a  24 

Kowes,  rolls •    .  so  p 


322 


GLOSSARY. 


Page  line  col. 

Rowin,  rolling 227  35 

Row%  rolled 71  23 

Rowte,  to  low,  to  bellow .    ...  29  12 

Rowth,  abundance 9  21 

Rowtin,  lowing 6  12 

Rozet,  rosin  ....          ...  74  14 .  2 

Ruefu',  rueful  .......  171  9'   2 

Rune,  a  cudgel  ...*.,,.  12  26 

Runkl'd,  wrinkled.     .....  15  7 

Runts,  the  stems  0/ cabbage     .     ,  29  16 

Ryke,  reach 51  1 

SABS,  sobs 50  35 

Sae,  so  .........    »  3  21 

Saft,  soft  .    .   ' 19  22 

Sair,  sore  .»...»,..  243 

to  serve •  132  32 

Sairly,  sorely ".    ♦  211  34 

Sair't,  served .  81  35 

Sang,  song     ........  I  27 

Sannock,  Alexander  .....  142  11 

Sark, ,a  shirt 11  3 

Sarkit,  provided  in  shirts    ...  38  29 

Sauce,  scorn,  insolence    .     .     .    .  Ill  23    2 

Saugh,  the  willow 53  24    2 

Saugh    woodies,    ropes   made   of 

willow  witfus 108  52 

Saul,  soul .     .    * 4  20 

Saunt,  saints 7  27 

Saut,  salt 33  24 

Saut  backets,  salt  buckets    ...  96  n 

Sautet,  malted 37  36    2 

Saw,  to  sow  .    . 46  39 

Sawin,  sowing   .......  20.  32 

Sawmont,  a  salmon    .    .    .    .    ;  42  23    2 

Sax,  six 21  17 

Sixpence,  sixpence 142  12 

Sajrt,  sav  it 236  7 

Scaith,  hurt  ........  239  29 

Scaur,  to  scare .  21  20 

Scaur,  frightened  .     ...     .     .     .  31  18 

Scaud,  to  scald 31  6 

Scawl,  a  scold   ........  32  72 

Scho,  she •    .     .     .     .  236  14    2 

Schoolin',  schooling,  teaching  .     .  170  27 

Scones,  barley  cakes 72 

Sconner,  to  loathe 35  18    2 

loathing     ........  72  42 

Scraichin,  screaming 75  34 

Scrapin',  scraping 132  29 

Screed,  a  tear,  a  rent     ....  14  36 

to  repeat  glibly 104  5     2 

Scriechin,  screeching 9  35 

Scrievin,  gliding  easily    ....  7  n 

Scrimpit,  scanty 34  14 

Scrimply,  scantly w.  38  26    2 

Scroggie,    covered   with    stunted 

shrubs .269  32 

Sculdudd'ry,  a  ludicrous  term  de- 
noting'fornication     ....  271  34 

See't,  see  it 45  36 

Seizin,  seizing 10  28 

!&&/  ::::::::  *  \\ 

Sen',  send »  .  .  X42  17 

Sen't,  send  it Si  29 


Page  line  tot, 

Servan',  servant     ......  35  37 

Set,  lot 16  7 

Sets,  becomes      .     . 8  34 

sets  off,  starts      ......  23  15 

Settlin,  gat  a  fearfu'  settlin,  was 

frightened  into  quietness  .     »  47  22 

Shachl't,  defomied ,  195  3 

Shaird,  a  shred ,     ,  80  33     2 

Sha'na,  shall  not    ......  239  34 

Shangan,  a  cleft  stick.     ....  29  18 

Shank,  the  leg  and  foot  ....  53  15 

Shanks,  legs 267  27 

Shanna,  shall  not 151  20    2 

Sharin't,  sharing  it     .     1     .     »    .  240  20 

Shaul,  shallow  .......  J27  32 

Shaver,  a  wag ,     «  37  42 

Shavie,  a  trick  , 51  29    2 

Shaw,  show ,  34  6    2 

Shaw'd,  showed 93  ,  32 

Shaws,  wooded  dells 47  2 1 

Sheep-shank,  wha  thinks  himsel 
nae  sheep-shank  bane,  who 
thinks  himself  no  unimpor- 
tant personage     78  21 

Sheers,  shears 33  16 

scissors 62  25 

Sherra-moor,  Sheriff-muir  ...  46  19 

Sheugh,  a  trench    ......  1  30 

Sheuk,  shook ,  .  49  t 

Shiel,  a  shieling,  a  hut    ....  204  3 

Shill,  shrill 223  5 

Shillin's,  shillings  ......  255  22    2 

Shog,  a  shock 32  25 

Shools,  shovels 76  1 1     2 

Shoon,  shoes  ........  34  9 

Shor'd,  threatened 28  11 

offered 51  35    2 

Shore,  to  threaten  ......  132  21     2 

Shouldna,  should  not 177  11 

Shouther,  shoulder 13  13 

Shure,  did  shear,  did  cut  grain    ,  248  14 

Sic,  such 3  4 

Sicker,  secure     .......  20  16 

Siclike,  suchlike      ......  2  38 

Sidelins,  sidelong 78  39 

Sighin',  sighing 128  20 

Siller,  money 91  24 

of  the  colour  of  silver  .     .•    ,     ,  205  23 

Simmer,  summer 14  1 

Simmers,  summers 5  18 

Sin',  since 21  18 

Sindry,  sundry 274  2     2 

Sinfu',  sinful 72  32 

Singet,  singed 100  1 

Singin',  singing no  62 

Sing't,  sing  it     . 57  25     2 

Sinn,  the  sun ,  126  20    2 

Sinny,  sunny .  204  30 

Sinsyne,  since 183  27 

Skaith,  injury 20  41 

Skaithing,  injuring 81  19 

Skeigh,  high-mettled       ....  53  72 

shy,  proud,  disdainful      ...  1 80  22 

Skellum,  a  worthless  fellow      .     .  91  19 

Skelp,  a  slap 72  30    2 

to  run 157  15     2 


GLOSSARY. 


3*3 


Page  line  col. 
Skelpie^limmer,  a  technical  term 

in  female  scolding    ....  46  10 

Skelpin,  walking  smartly  ...  14  13 

resounding .  48      82 

Skclping,  slapping 2ox      5 

Skelpit,  hurried 92  3^ 

Skinklin,  glittering ,  214  21 

Skirl,  to  shriek »  29  28 

.Skirl'd,  shrieked     ......  45  15 

Skirlin,  shrieking 87 

Sklent,  to  deviate  from  truth  .     .  .78-  14 

Sklented,  slanted  ......  32      1    2 

Sklentin,  slanting 3!      22 

Skouth,  range,  scope  ...     .    .  129  21 

Skreech,  to  scream 95      2 

Skrieigh,  to  scream 53      92 

Skyrin,  anything   that   strongly 

takes  the  eye,  showy,  gaudy  .  230      5     2 

/Skyte,  a  sharp  oblique  stroke  .     .  48      4 

Slade,  slid 23  11 

Slae,  the  sloe.    .......  85  30 

Slaps,  flashes     .......  3  45 

gates,  stiles,  breaches  in  hedges  19  14 

SlaW,  Slow       .      .      » 221  10     2 

Slee,  shy 53  27 

Sleeest,  slyest 34      i 

Sleekit,  sleek 54  19 

Slidd'ry,  slippery 225      2    2 

Sloken,  to  quench,  to  allay  thirst  111  26 

Slypet,  slipped,  fell  over.     ...  53  36    2 

Sma',  small '  .  19      3 

Smeddum,  dust,  Powder.    ...  74  15    2 

Smeek,  smoke 38  15 

Smiddy,  a  smithy ;  1  19 

Smoor/d,  smothered 24  33 

Smoutje,  smutty 32  27 

Smytrie,  a  number  huddled  to- 

"  gether 2  40 

Snap,  smart ........  114  24    5 

Snapper,  to  stumble 190  19 

Snash,  abuse,  impertinence .    ...  3  14 

Snaw  broo,  melted  snow  .    ...  26  32 

Snawie,  snowy 69  26 

Snawy,  snowy 31  31    i 

Sned,  to  lop,  to  cut 108      52 

Snell,  bitter,  biting     .          ...  54  42 

Snellest,  sharpest,  keenest    .     .     .  191  17    1 

Sneeshin-mill,  a  snuff-box    ...  45 

Snick,  the  latchet  of  a  door.     .     .  32  19 

Snirtle,  to  laugh  slily.     ....  51  38 

Snool,  to  cringe,  to  submit  tamely  173  23 

to  snub 203      5 

Snoov'd,  sneaked 166  26 

Snoov*t,  went  smoothly  ....  54  12 

Snowkit,  snuffed 23 

Sodger,  a  soldier 48      6    : 

Sodgerin',  soldiering  .....  271  36 

•  Soger,  a  soldier 237      6 

Sonsie,  jolly,  comely  ....  1  31 

Soom,  to  swim  ......  10    15 

Soor,  sour     ........  127      3 

Sootie,  sooty 31      3 

Sough,  a  heavy  sigh 230  27 

Souk,  a  suck 268    11 

Soupe,  a  spoonful,  a  small  quan- 
tity of  anything  liquid.     .    .  63    28 


_        ,  Page  line  col. 

-Souple,  supple  .    .    .    .    „    .    .  7  2 

Souter,  a  shoemaker  .    .    .    .    f  91  41 

Sovvps,  spoonfuls 12  38 

Sowter,  a  shoemaker  .     .     ,     .     .  173  .   9 
Sowth,  to  try  over  a  tune  with  a 

low  whistle ;  57  23    2 

Sowther,  to  solder,  to  make  up.    ♦  5  42 

Spae,  to  Prophesy 46  13 

Spails,  chips  of  wood 151  4    % 

Spairges,  dashes  or  scatters  about .  31  5 

Spairin,  sparing     ......  18  13 

Spak,  spake 14  32 

Spate,  a  flood    .......  26  33 

Spavie,  a  disease    .......  51  33    j 

Spaviet,  having  the  spavin ...  58  39    2 

Spean,  to  wean  ........  94  14 

Speel,  to  climb 78  32    2 

Speel'd,  climbed 35  2 

Speer,  to  ittquire 244  6    a 

Spence",  the  country  parlour    .     .  33  45 

Spier,  to  ask,  to  inquire  .     ...  8  24 

Spier'd,  inquired 195  x 

Spier' t,  inquired    ...'...  76  14 

Spinnin,  spinning  .......  203  17    2 

Spleuchan,  a  tobacco-pouch  ...  21  24  • 

Splore,  a  frolic 48  9 

Sprackled,  clambered xix  19 

Sprattle,  to  struggle 55  17 

Spring,  a  quick  air  in  music,  a 

Scottish  reel 81  33 

Spritty,  full  of  spirits     ....  53  35.  2  • 

Sprush,  spruce 265  39 

Spunk,_^tff 30  25 

mettle 51  24    2 

a  spark •    .  76  25    2 

Spunkie,  full  of  spirit     ....  xx  23 

whisky 151  29    2 

Spunkies,  Wills  d  the  wisp     .     .  25  38 
Spurtle,  a  stick  with  which  Por- 
ridge, broth,  &*c.  are  stirred 

while  boiling 96  3 

Squattle,  to  sprawl 74  26 

Squeel,  to  scream  ....  31  12 
Stacher'd,  staggered,  walked  un- 
steadily    20  3 

Stacher't,  staggered 150  12 

Stack,  stuck 93  46 

Staggie,  dim.  of  stag 53  5 

Staig,  a  horse  of  one,  tw*,  or 
three  years  old,  not  yet  broken 
for  riding,  nor  employed  in 

work 266  13 

Stan',  a  stand 20  33 

Wad  stan' t,  would  have  stood  .  x  21 

Stanes,  stones 2  37 

Stang,  to  sting 52  21 

Stank,  a  pool  or  pond 52  9 

Stap,  to  stop 20  39 

Stark,  strong 53  24 

Starns,  stars 83  16 

Starnies,  dim.  of  starns  ....  84  12    3 

Startirf,  starting 44      8    a 

Startles,  runs  hurriedly  ....  435 

Starvin,  starving 54  9    a 

Staukin,  stalking 201  23    2 

Staumrel,  half-witted     .    .    .    .  27  38 


3H 


GLOSSARY. 


M  Page  line  cot. 

Staw,  to  stent 39     9 

to  surfeit   .     v        72      2    2 

Stechin,  cramming,  panting with 

repletion 2  25 

Steele,  to  close '3  31 

Steeks,  stitches,  reticulations  .     .  2  21 

Steer,  to  injure 5  13 

to  stir  up ,    .     .  x8      4 

Steer'd,  molested ♦  >3l      6 

Steeve, /irm,  compacted.     ...  53  14 

Stells,  stills 9  14 

Sten,  a  leap  or  bound 201  18     2 

Hasty  stens,  hasty  stretches  or 

rushes     ....,.,,  83  26    2 

Sten't,  reared ,  54      9 

Stents,  assessments,  dues     ...  2  16 

Steyest,  steepest 54      8 

Stibble,  stubble 54  25    2 

Stibble-rig,  the  reaper  in  harvest 

who  takes  the  lead    ....  46  28 

a  stubble-ridge 164  33    2 

Stick-an-stowe,  totally,  altogether  80  14    2 

Stilt,  halt 58  41    2 

Stimpart,  an    eighth  part   0/  a 

Winchester  bushel  ....  54  11    2 

Stirk,  a  cow  or  bullock  a  year  old  30  35 

Stockin,  stocking 75  34    2 

Stockins,  stockings 68  10    2 

Stockit,  stocked. (41      62 

Stocks,  plants  of  cabbage     ...  33  14 

Stoited,  walked  stupidly      ...  140  10 

Stoitered,  staggered •  49      62 

Stoor,sounding  hollowly  or  hoarsely  31      92 

Stoppit,  slopped 170      8    2 

Stot,  an  ox    .     .     .     .     f     .     .     .  30  39 

Stoure,  dust ,  29  29 

dust  btozvn  on  the  wind   .     ,     .  199  30 

pressure  of  circumstances      .     .  237  17 

Stown,  stolen     .......  184  20 

Stownlins,  by  stealth 45  16    2 

Stowrie,  dusty 268  12 

Stoyte,  to  stumble 190  19 

Strade,  strode 251       2 

Strae,  a  fair  strae-death,  a  natu* 

ral  death 23       1 

Straik,  to  stroke 12      2 

Straikit,  stroked 81       52 

Strak,  struck 23  38 

Strang,  strong 83  26    2 

Strappan,  straffing 62  47 

Strappin,  strapping 182  17 

Straught,  straight 32  12 

Streamies,  dim.  of  streams .     .     .  108  34 
Streekit,  stretched.  Streekit  owre, 

stretched  across 26      4 

Strewin,  strewing 54  38 

Striddle,  to  straddle 78     .2 

Stringin,  stringing 38  23 

Stroan't,  pissed 1  22 

Studdie,  a  stithy '.  8      5 

Stumpie,  dim.  of  stump,  a  short 

quill 77  24    2 

Strunt,  spirituous  liquor  0/  any 

kind 47  30 

to  walk  sturdily.     .    .    .    ♦    .  74  « 

Stuff,  com    ...♦.♦..  46  94 


Page  line  cot. 

Sturt,  to  molest,  to  vex  ....  5  25 

Sturtin, /righted    .......  46  7 

Styme,  see  a  styme,  see  in  the  least  x6x  6    2 

Sucker,  sugar 7  36 

Sud,  should 7  38 

Sugh,  a  rushing  sound   ....  25  29 

Sumphs,  stupid  fellows  ....  125  13    2 

Sune,  soon 124  41 

Snppin',  supping    ......  276  2    2 

Suthron,  Southern,  English    .     ,  79  36 

Swaird,  sward 32  17 

Swall'd,  swelled 72  21 

Swanky stately 53  14 

Swankies,  strapping  young  fellows  15  21 

Swap,  an  exchange 77  8 

Swarf,  to  swoon 230  23    2 

Swat,  did  sweat     ......  35  26 

Swatch,  sample .......  16  5 

specimen 23  25 

Swats,  ale      . 91  40 

Swearin',  swearing     .....  149  13 

Sweatin,  sweating 80  20 

Swinge,  to  lash 151  6    2 

Swingein,  whipping 30  20 

Swirl,  a  curve    .......  1  36 

Swith,  swift 29  xi 

Swither,  doubt 13  15 

Swoor,  swore     .......  45  72 

Sybow,  a  leek 133  5    2 

Syne,  since %    .  x  28 

then *.*.-.•  18  39 

TACK,  possession,  lease .    .    .  no  4    2 
Tackets,  a  kind  of  nails  for  driv- 
ing into  the  heels  of  shoes  .    .  96  9 

Tae,  toe 269  7 

Three-tae'd,  three-toed     ...  20  23 

Taed,  a  toad 271  42 

Taen,  taken 34  12 

Tairge,  to  task  severely  '.     .     .     .  104  2    2 

Tak,  to  take 4  29 

Tald,  told 76  11 

Tane,  the  one 137  27 

Tangs,  tongs ........  121  14 

Tapmost,  topmost 74  32 

Tapetless,  lieedless,  foolish  ...  77  30 

Tappit  hen,  a  quart  measure  .     .  177  n     2 

Taps,  tops 72  18    2 

Tapsalteerie,  topsy-turvy     .     .     .  223  14    2 

Tarrow,  to  murmur   .     .     .     ,     .  151  24    2 

Tarrow't,  murmured 37  38    2 

Tarry -breeks,  a  sailor     ....  37  15    2 

Tassie,  a  goblet 212  2 

Tauld,  told 37  41 

Tawie,  that  allows  itself  peaceably 

to  be  Iiandled 53  29 

Tawp'ies,foolish,thoughtlessyoung 

Persons 122  19 

Tawted,  matted,  uncombed     .     .  x  20 

Teats,  small  quantities  ....  33  10 

Teen,  provocation,  chagrin.     .     .  98  25 

Tell'd,  told 166  32 

Tellin',  telling 132  30 

Temper  pin,  the  wooden  pin  used 
for  tempering  or  regulating 

the  motion  of  a  sfinning-wheel  267  34 


GLOSSARY, 


325 


Page  liw,  col. 
Tefl-hours*  bite,   a  slight  feed  to 
tlie  horses  while  in  yoke  in 

the  forenoon 77  27 

Tent,  to  take  heed 20  3 

mark .  so  40 

Tentie,  heedful  .    • 45  28 

Tender,  more  careful 120  10    2 

Teughly,  toughly 25  43. 

Teuk,  took     ........  49  27 

Thack  an- rape,  clothes    .    .    .     .  2  42 

Thae,  these   ........  its  32 

Thairm,  fiddlestrings      ....  28  25 

Thankfu,  thankful     .....  58  28 

Thankit,  thanked 26  4a 

Theekit,    thatched,    covered  up, 

secured 126  xo"    2 

Thegither,  together 22 

Themsels,  themselves 5  a 

Thick,  pack  and  thick,  friendly    .  2  2 

Thieveless,  cold,  dry,  spited     .     .  26  t 

Thigger,  begging 151  11     2 

Thir,  these 94  9 

their 247  xo 

ThirI'd,  thrilled 76  5 

Thole,  to  suffer,  to  endure  ...  314 

Thou's,  thou  art 140  19 

Thowes,  thaws .  36  31 

Thowless,  slack,  lazy 77  37 

Thrang,  busy r  5 

a  crowd ,     .     .  15  23 

Thrapple,  the  throat  .....  X41  82 
Thrave,   twenty-four   sheaves   of 

corn,  including  two  shocks    .  54  .33* 

Thraw,  to  sprain  or  twist   ...  47  1 

to  cross  or  contradict 221  36.    2 

Thrawin,  twisting 47  x  3 

Thrawn,  twisted    ......  42  18 

Thraws,  throes  .......  217  X3 

Threap,  to  maintain  by  dint  of 

assertion 80  26 

Thresh,  to  thrash 165  28 

Threshing,  thrashing 29  8     2 

Thretteen,  thirteen     .....  54  17 

Thretty,  thirty 255  22     2 

Thrissfe,  the  thistle 10  25 

Throwther,  a'  throwther,  through- 

"'*:  other, pell tnell 13  17 

Thuds,  that  makes  a  loud  inter- 

mi 't tent noise 39  8 

resounding  blows     .....  230  28 

Thummart,  the  weasel    .    ...  127  7 

Thumpit,  thumped 43  8 

Thysel',  thyself.    .     .     .     .     .     .  130  20 

Tidins,  tidings •    .  190  36 

Till,  unto x  '2  15 

ran,  fed 11  41 

Timmer,  timber 5  7 

the  tree  boughs »  78  8 

Timmer  propt,  timber propt     .    .  47  13 

Tine,  to  lose ,    .     .  13  40 

to  go  astray .  945  7    e 

Tint,  lost  .........  26  43 

Tint  as  win,  lost  as  won  .    »    .    ,  210  8 

Tinkler,  a  tinker    ......  r  1$ 

Tips,  rams    ..,,....  3J  27    9 

Tippence,  twopence    -    •    .    .    .  %$  31 
B 


Page  line  col, 

Tnd,  to  strip 151       T     8 

Tirl'd,  knocked j68      x    2 

Tirlin,  unroofing 31  22 

Tither,  the  other I  23 

Tittlih,  whispering J  5  41 

Tocher,  marriage  portion   ...  53  21 

Tocher-band,  dowry  bond    ...  227  52. 

Todlin,  tottering 20  14 

1<A%,  foxes .     .  33  6 

Toom,  empty     .......  10  26 

Toop,  a  rant 33  19 . 

Toun,  a  hamlet,  a  farm-house  33  35 
Tout,    the   blast   of  a    horn   or 

trumpet 18  10 

Touzie,  rough,  shaggy     ....  x  33 

Touzle,  to  rumple 122  31    2 

To've,  to  have 205  5    2 

Tow,  a  rope 53  26    2 

Towmond,  a  twelvemonth  ...  63  34 

Towzling,  rumpling,  dishevelling  50  16 
Toy,  a  very  old  fashion  of  female 

head-dress 74  19    2 

Toyte,  to  totter 54  14    a 

Transmugrify'd,  metamorphosed ,  42  3 

Trashtrie,  trash 2  27 

Treadiu',  treading 137  29 

Trews,  trousers 230  5    2 

Trickie,  tricksy 53  27 

Trig,  spruce,  neat 44  53 

Trinkling,  trickling 261  31 

%Troggin,  wares  sold  by  wandering 

merchants 271  x    a 

Troke,  to  exchange,  to  deal 'with  .  151  35    a 

Trottin,  trotting 53  26 

Trouse,  trousers 251  19 

Trow't,  believed .  255  19    a 

Trowth,  a  petty  oath 26  43 

Try't,  have  tried 53  2X    a 

Tulzie,  a  quarrel 80  40    « 

TunefuV  tuneful X40  5 

Tup,  a  ram X75  14 

Twa,  two 1  3 

Twa  fauld,  twofold,  doubled  up    .  264  9 

Twa-three,  two  or  three  .     ...  15  39 

Twal,  twelve  o'clock 23  39 

Twalpennie    worth,    twelvepenny 

worth 3  33 

Twalt,  the  twelfth xio  2    a 

Twang,  txuinge xoi  11 

Twined,  reft 148  2    1 

Twins,  bereaves,  takes  away  from  8  27 

Twistle,  a  twist 126  29    a 

Tyke,  a  vagrant  dog 1  20 

Tyne,  to  lose'. .  220  14 

Tysday  'teen,  Tuesday  evening    .  X64  4  a 

UNCHANCY,  dange rous  .     .     .  15*  3« 

Unco,  very •.    .  3  34 

great,  extreme 30  31 

strange 47  26    a 

Uncos,  strange  things,  news   of 

the  country  side   .     .     .     .     .  62  22 

Urikend,  unknown 79  » 5 

Unkenn'd,  unknown 79  3a    * 

Unsicker,  utiseture 121  15 

Uoskaith'd,  unhurt 4}  «$    a 

...  %% 


3*6 


GLOSSARY. 


Page  line  col 

Upo',  upon 3  46. 

Upon't,  upon  it , .  246     9    2 

VAP'RIN,  vapouring    .....  46      6 

Vauntie,  proud,  in  high  spirits     .  94  28 

Vera,  very 5  14 

Vie  win,  viewing 80  16 

Virls,  rings  round  a  column    .     .  25  47 

Vittel,  victual,  grain ^126      92 

Vittle,  victual 248  27 

Vogie,  proud,  well-pleased  .     .     .  269  28 
Vow,  an  interjection  expressive  of  . 

admiration  or  surprise     .     .  269  28 

WA\  a  wall .    .  38      22 

Wa'  flower,  the  wallflower .     .    .  209  26    2 

Wab,  a  web  ..'.;....  248  19 

Wabster,  a  weaver     ......  15  43 

Wadj  would 1  17 

a  wager 23  35 

to  wed   .    .    .    ....     .  '  .     .  268  19 

Wad  ahaen,  would  have  had  .     .  212  38 

Wadna,  would  not 45  29 

Wadset,  a  mortgage 271  29 

Wae,  sorrowful 3  12 

Wae  days,  woful  days     ....  253  21 

Waefu\  woful 201      x 

Waes  me,  woe's  me '  22  31 

Waesucks  !  alas  T : 19      1 

Wae  worth,  woe  befall    .'.'..  8  25 
Waft,  the  cross  thread  that  goes 
from  the  shuttle  through  the 

web 77  35    2 

Waifs,  stray  sheep 126  29 

Wair*t,  spend  it 57  32 

Wal'd,  chose  ........  29  35    2 

Wale,  choice.     Pick  and  wale,  of 

choicest  quality 29  16     2 

Walie,  ample,  large    ."....  72  15    2 

Wallop  in  a  tow,  to  hang  one's  self  268  20 

Waly,  ample.     .......  236  31 

Wame,  the  belly 7      7 

Wamefou,  bellyful ......  72  36 

Wan,  did  win ,.  108  15     2 

earned 265  20 

Wanchancie,  unlucky,    ....  33  34    2 

Wanrestfu',  restless     .....  33  12 

WarM,  spent,  bestowed    .     .     .     .  X41  6 

Ware,  to  spend •    .  108  23 

worn *.    ...  125  25 

Wark,  work 5  *9 

Wark-lume,  a  tool  to  work  with  .  31  27    2 
Warks,   works,   in    the    sense    of 

buildings,  manufactures,  &>c.  168       I 

Warld,  world 28      3 

Warlock,  a  wizard 34      3 

Warly,  worldly •.     .  77  *& 

Warran,  warrant 11  17 

Warsle,  to  wrestle J  37      4 

Warst,  worst S31 

Warstl'd,  wrestled.     .....  25  42 

Wasna,  was  not 20      2 

Wast, west 99  *5 

Wastrie,  prodigality,  riot    ...  2  28 

Wat,  wet  •.,,...••    .  46  23 

twt,  know .,..«...«  l$4      *    3 


Page  line  cot. 

Wat  na,  wot  not 165      6    2 

Waterbrose,  brose  made  of  meat 

and  water  simply  ....  35  27  2 
Wattle,  a  wand.  ...'...  53  23  ? 
Wauble,  to  swing,  to  reel    ...       53      5     z 

Wankening,  awakening  ....  211      8 

Waukens,  wakens 17    39 

Waukit,  thickened  with  toil  .  .  ,-j3  22 
Waukrife,  wakeful     .....       84    36 

Wauks,  awakes 226      4 

W aur,  to  fight,  to  defeat.     ...       21     22 

worse xoo      6 

Waui^t,  worsted 53    20    3 

Weans,  children 2    40 

Weanies,  dim.  of  weans  ....  87 
Weason,  the  weasand  ....  8  21 
Wee,  little .        2    29 

A  wee,  a  short  period  of  time    .      31      7 

A  wee  a-back,  a  small  space 

behind 14    16 

Weel,  well 5    30 

Weel-gaun,  well-going    ....      41    23 

Weel-kent,  well-known   ....  177      9    3 

Weet,  wet. 8    21 

dew 190    30 

rain •    •    •  191       *     2 

We'se,  we  shall  or  will  ....       77      6 

Westlin,  western 57    18 

Wha,  who x    25 

Wha  e'er,  whoever 174    20 

Whaizle,  to  wheeze      ....*.       53    32,3 

Whalpit,  whelped x     xi 

Wham,  whom 246      8 

Whan,  when 38      9 

Whang,  a  large  slice 15    25 

to  give  the  strappado 29    32 

Whar,  where.     .  , 262     17 

Whare,  where 2    21 

Wha's,  whose     .     i 16    12 

Whase,  whose 23      8 

Whatfore no? for w/iat reason  not?  166      7 

Whatt,  did  whet  or  cut  ....  126     xi 

Whaup,  a  curlew 169      6    2 

Whaur'll,  where  will 166     10 

Wheep,  flying  nimbly     ....       29    25    2 
Whiddin,  running  as  a  hare    .     .       75    35 
Whigmeleeries,  crochets ....       26      8 
Whingin,     crying,     complaining, 

fretting 85      7 

Whins,  furze  bushes 47     23 

Whirlygigums,  useless  ornaments  25  47 
Whisht,  peace.      Held  my  whisht, 

kept  silence 38      72 

Whiskit,  whisked 53     32     2 

Whissle,  whistle 10    26 

So  gat  the  whissle  o'  my  groat, 

to  play  a  losing  game    ...  81     14     2 

Whistle,  the  throat 150    21     2 

Whitter.a  hearty draught  oj liquor  77  12 
Whun-stane,  whinstone,  granite  .       J 8     22 

Whup,  a  whip    ....♦.»  48     X2    « 

Whyles,  sometimes 23 

Wi\  with i     >S 

Wick,  a  term  in  curling,  to  strike 

a  stone  in  an  oblique  direction  42     x8    9 

Widdiefu,  ill-tempered   .    .    .    .  x8a    29 


GLOSSARY, 


m 


Widdle,  a  struggle  or  bustle  i 
Wiel,  a  small  whirlpool .  .  , 
Wine,  dim.  of  ivife  .... 
Wight,  strong,  powerful  .  . 
WiF  cat,  the  wild  cat .  .  .  , 
Willie-waught,  a  hearty  draught 
Willow  wicker,  the  smaller  species 

of  willow 

Willyart,  wild,  strange,  timid     . 
Wimplin,  wiving,  meandering    . 

Wimpl't,  wimpled 

Win',  wind 

Wink  in,  w hiking    ...... 

Winna,  will  not 

Winnock  -  bunker,    a   seat   in   a. 

window 

Winnocks,  windows 

Wins,  winds 

Win't,  did  wind 

Wimle,  a  staggering  motion    .     . 

Winties,  struggles 

Winze,  an  oath 

Wiss,  wish 

Witha',  withal 

Withoutten,  without 

Wonner,   a  wonder,  a   contemp* 

tuous  appellation      .... 

Wons,  dwells 

Woo',  wool 

Wocdie,  the  gallows 

a  rope,  more  properly  one  made 

of zuithes  or  willows.    .     .     . 
Wooer-babs,  garters  knotted  be' 

low  the  knee  in  a  couple  of 

loops 

Wordie,  dim.  of  word     .... 

Wordy,  worthy 

Wori'.  world 


Page  line  col. 

103  2X 

47  31 
62      6 

104  9 
127  7 
227      3 

121  17 

m  34 

44  «* 

47  20 

236  27 

30  13 

zx  10 

93  25 

12  17 

4       2 

45  28    2 
47  22 

170      8 

47  16 

71  25 

212  27 

42  30 

2  29 

179  21 

32  33      2 

5°  34 

'83  18 


44  5    2 

X28  17 

72  5 

4  30 


Pago  line  col. 

Worset,  worsted .  .  46      8 

Wow,  an  exclamation  of  pleasure 

or  wonder Cj  37 

Wrang,  wrong 36  25 

mistaken 76      6    2 

Wranged,  wronged 71  35    a 

Wree-ths,  wreatlis 55      9 

Wud,  mad 8  14 

Wumble,  a  rvimble 71  35 

Wyle,  to  beguile,  to  decoy    .    .    .•  185  44 

Wyliecoat,  a  flannel  vest    ...  74  21    a 

VVyling,  beguiling 188  20 

Wyte,  to  blame,  to  reproach    .    .  8  so 

YARD,  a  garden  .    • 32  13 

Yaud,  a  worn-out  horse  ....  272  36 
Yell,  barren.     As  yell 's  the.  Bill, 
giving  no  more  milk  than  the 

bull 31  24    a 

Yerd,  the  churchyard 230  10 

Yerket,  jerked,  lashed    ....  34  21 

Yerl,  an  earl.  . 272  24 

Ye'se,  you  shall  or  will  .    .    .    .  104  21    2 

Yestreen,  yesternight.     ...»  21  35 

Yetts,  gates 151  Ti 

Yeukin,  itching xn      5 

Yeuks,  itches X21      92 

WW,  ale 18  30 

Yill-caup,  alc-stoup 17  29 

Yird,  earth 45      * 

Yirth,  the  earth 137      9    2 

Yokin,  yoking,  a  bout,  a  set  to     .  75  57    2 

Yont,  beyond. 31  33 

Yoursel,  yourselves 19      5 

yourself. 3°  3° 

Yowes,  ewes 33      22 

Yowie,  dim.  of  yowe 33      5    2 

Yule,  Christmas 18*  35 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES. 


ght 


Accept  the  gift  a  friend  sincere  . 
Adieu  !  a  heart-warm,  fond  adieu ! 
Admiring  Nature  in  her  wildest  grace 
Adown  winding  Nith  I  did  wander 
Ae  day,  as  Death,  that  grusome  carl 
Ae  fond  kiss,  and  then  we  sever !  . 
Again  rejoicing  nature  sees  .  .  . 
Again  the  silent  wheels  of  time  .  . 
A  guid  New- Year  I  wish  thee,  Maggie  !  . 
Ah,  Chloris,  since  it  may  na  be  .  .  .  . 
A  head,  pure,  sinless  quite  of  brain  and 

scul . 

A  little,  upright,  pert,  tart,  tripping  wi 
All  devil  as  1  am,  a  damned  wretch 
All  hail !  inexorable  lord !  ... 
Altho'  my  back  be  at  the  wa\  .  , 
Altho'  my  bed  were  in  yon  muir.  . 
Altho'  thou  maun  never  be  mine 
Amang  the  trees  where  humming  bees  . 
Among  the  heathy  hills  and  ragged  woods 
Ance    mair    I    hail    thee,   thou   gloomy 

December  !....• 

An  honest  man  here  lies  at  rest  .  .  , 
Anna,  thy  charms  my  bosom  fire     .    , 

An'  O  !  my  Eppie 

A  rose-bud  by  my  early  walk      .    .    . 
As  cauld  a  wind  as  ever  blew     .    .     . 
As  down  the  burn  they  took  their  way 
As  father  Adam  first  was  fooPd  .     .     . 
As  I  came  in  by  our  gate  end     .    .    . 
As  I  stood  by  yen  roofless  tower     .     . 
As  I  was  a  wand'ring  ae  midsummer  e'enin 
Ask  why  God  made  the  gem  so  small 
A  slave  to  love's  unbounded  sway  . 
As  Mailie,  an'  her  lambs  thegither  . 
As  on  the  banks  o'  wandering  Nith 
As  Tarn  the  Chapman  on  a  day  .     . 
A'  the  lads  o'  Thornie-bank    .     .     . 
At  Brownhill  we  always  get  dainty  good 

cheer  .     .     .     .     . 

Auld  chuckie  Reekie  s  sair  distrest .  . 
Auld  comrade  dear  and  brither  sinner 
Awa    wi'    your    witchcraft    o'    beauty 

alarms .     .     . 

A'  ye  wha  live  by  sowps  o'  drink     «. 


Bannocks  o'  bear  meal 

Beauteous  rose-bud,  young  and  gay 
Behind  yon  hills  where  Lugar  flows 
Behold  the  hour,  the  boat  arrive  !    . 
Below  thir  stanes  lie  Jamie's  banes 
Bless  Jesus  Christ,  O  Cardoness     . 


Page 
X19 
225 
101 
216 
170 
214 
225 
70 

53 
274 

281 
I3S 
163 
69 
252 
240 
196 

239 
103 

206 

X2X 

227" 
276 
I99 
156 
252 
167 
247 
.209 
252 
168 
247 
32 
147 
160 
252 


175 
122 
141 

195 
71 

253 

97 

223 

207 

173 
172 


Blest  be  M'Murdo  to  his  latest  day  , 
Blithe  hae  I  been  on  yon  hill .... 
Bonie  wee  thing,  cannie  wee  thing .  , 
Bright  ran  thy  line,  O  Galloway  .  , 
But  lately  seen  in  gladsome  green  .  . 
But  rarely  seen  since  Nature's  birth  , 
By  Allan  stream  I  chane'd  to  rove  .  , 
By  Ochtertyre  grows  the  aik .  .  .  , 
By  yon  castle  wa',  at  the  close  of  the  day 


Pag* 
x76 
217 
203 
169 
189 
156 

198 
236 


Can  I  cease  to  care 221 

Cauld  blaws  the  wind  frae  east  to  west    .  21 1 

Cauld  is  the  e'enin'  blast 253 

Cease,  ye  prudes,  your  envious  railing     .  172 

Clarinda,  mistress  of  my  soul      .    *     .    .  229 

Come  boat  me  o'er,  come  row  me  o'er  •     .  253 

Come,  let  me  take  thee  to  my  breast  .    ,  2x7 

Coming  through  the  rye,  poor  body     .     .  254 

Contented  wi'  little,  and  cantie  wi'  mair  .  190 

Could/ aught  of  song  declare  my  pains  .  242 
Curs'd  be  the  man,  the  poorest  wretch  in 

life 167 

Curse  on  ungrateful  man,  that  ""can  be 

pleas'd 137 

Dear  Smith,  the  sleeest,  paukie  thief  .    .  34 

Dear ,  I'll  gie  ye  some  advice  .    .     .  177 

Deluded  swain,  the  pleasure  .....  186 

Dire  was  the  hate  at  old  Harlaw     .    .     .  233 

Does  haughty  Gaul  invasion  threat?    .    .  231 

Duncan  Gray  came  here  to  woo .     •    .    .  180 

Dweller  in  yon  dungeon  dark     ....  83 

Earth'd  up  here  lies  an  imp  o*  hell .    .    .  144 

Edina!  Scotia's  darling  seat!-    ....  75 

Expect  na,  Sir,  in  this  narration ....  7a 

Fair  Empress  of  the  Poet's  soul 134 

Fair  fa*  your  honest,  sonsie  face ....  72 

Fair  maid,  you  need  not  take  the  hint.    •  176 

Fair  the  lace  of  orient  day 138 

False  flatterer,  Hope,  away !      ....  124 

Fareweel  to  a',  our  Scottish  fame  .  .  .  250 
Farewell,  dear  Friend  !  may  guid  luck  hit 

you*    ........   »#.    ...  144 

Farewell,  old  Scotia's  bleak  domains  .  .  144 
Farewell,  thou  fair  day,  thou  green  earth,, 

and  ye  skies ;  178 

-  189 


Farewell,  thou  stream  that  winding  flows 
Farewell,  ye  dungeons  dark  and  strong   .    : 
Fate  gave  the  word,  the  arrow  spe'd    . 
Fill  me  with  the  rosy  wine     ...» 


3 


330 


WDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES. 


Page 

Fintray,  my  stay  in  worldly  strife  ...  144 

First  when  Maggy  was  my  care.  .  .  .  232 
Flow  gently,  sweet    Afton,  among   thy 

green  braes 207 

For  Lords  or  Kings  I  dinna  mourn      .     .  137 

Forlorn,  my  love,  no  comfort  near  ...  193 

Frae  the  friends  and  land  I  love      .    .    .  277 

Friday  first  *s  the  day  appointed      ...  177 

Friend  of  the  Poet,  tried  and  leal    .    .    .  ir.o 

From  thee,  Eliza,  I  must  go 222 

From  those  drear  solitudes  and  frowzy 

cells 142 

Full  well  thou  know'st  I  love  thee  dear    .  197 

Fy,  let  us  a'  to  Kircudbright 270 

Gane  is  the  day,  and  mirk 's  the  night     .  201 

Gat  ye  me,  O  gat  ye  me' 254 

Go  fetch  to  me  a  pint  o' wine  .  .  ,  .  212 
Grant  me,  indulgent  Heav'n,  that  I  may 

live 167 

Gudeen  to  you,  Kimmer 276 

Guid-mornin  to  your  Majesty !   .     .     .     .  36 

Guid  speed  an' furder  to  you,  Johny    .     .  125 

Had  I  a  cave  on*  some  wild,  distant  shore  185 

Had  I  the  wyte,  had  I  the  wyte      ...  255 

Hail,  Poesie!  thou  Nymph  reserv'd  !  .    .  114 

Hail,  thairm-inspirin',  rattlin'  Willie  ! .     .  148 

Hark  !  the  mavis'  evening  sang  ....  187 

Has  auld  Kilmarnock  seen  the  Deil?  .     .  42 

Ha !  whare  ye  gaun,  ye  crawlin  ferlie  !    .  74 

Health  to  the  Maxwells' vet'ran  Chief !    .  134 

Hear,  Land  o'  Cakes,  and  brither  Scots  .  95 

He  clench'd  his  pamphlets  in  his  fist   .     .  171 

Hee  balou  !  my  sweet  wee  Donald      .     .  255 

He  looked  Just  as  your  Sign-post  lions  do  281 

Her  daddie  forbad,  her  minnie  forbad      .  255 

Her  flowing  locks,  the  raven's  wing     .     .  243 

Here  awa,  there  awa,  wandering  Willie  .  183 

Here  Brewer  Gabriel's  fire's  extinct    .     .  149 

Here  comes  Burns    .  _ 175 

Here  Holy  Willie's  sair  worn  clay  ...  131 

Here  is  the  glen,  and  here  the  bovver  .     .  187 

Here  lie  Willie  Michie's  banes  .  .  .  .  170 
Here  lies  a  mock  Marquis  whose  [titles 

were  shamm'd 175 

Here  lies  a  rose,  a  budding  rose.    .     .     .  149 

Here  lies  John  Bushby,  honest  man  !  .     .  174 

Here  lies  Johnny  Pidgeon 174 

Here  sowter  Hood  in  Death  does  sleep    .  173 

Here  Stuarts  once  in  glory  reign'd  .  .  .  149 
Here,  where  the  Scottish  Muse  immortal 

lives .     .  113 

Here's  a  bottle  and  an  honest  friend !  .    .  234 

Here's  a  health  to  them  that's  awa  ...  245 

Here's  to  thy  health,  my  bonie  lass  .  .  256 
He  who  of  Rankine  sang,  lies  stiff  and 

dead 169 

Hey,  the  dusty  miller 256 

His  face  with  smile  eternal  drest     ...  281 

Honest  Will  to  heaven  is  gane    ....  177 

How  can  my  poor  heart  be  glad.  .  .  .  187 
How  cold  is  that  bosom  which  folly  once 

fired "7 

How  cruel  are  the  parents 192 

How  daur  ye  ca'  me  howlet-faccd  ...  176 


Pags 

How  Iang  and  dreary  is  the  night  .  .  .  188 
How  pleasant  the  banks  of  the  clear- 

winding'Devon 215 

How  shall  I  sing  Drumianrig's  Grace .  .  147 
How  Wisdom  and  Folly  meet,  mix,  and 

unite 107 

Husband,  husband,  cease  your  strife  .     .  186 

I  am  a  keeper  of  the  law 169 

I  am  my  mammies  ae  bairn 246 

'  I  burn,  I  burn,  as  when  thro'  ripen'd  corn  160 

I  call  no  Goddess  to  inspire  my  strains     .  121 

I  coft  a  stane  o'  haslock  woo' 256 

1  do  confess  thou  art  sae  fair 213 

I    dream'd    I    lay   where    flowers    were 

springing 211 

If  thou  should  ask  my  love 258 

If  ye  gae  up  to  yon  hill-tap 244 

If  you  rattle  along  like  your  mistress's 

tongue 163 

I  gaed  a  waefu'  gate  yestreen     ....  201 

I  gaed  up  to  Dunse  ........  248 

I  gat  your  letter,  winsome  Willie     ...  78 

I  had  sax  owsen  in  a  pleugh 247 

I  hae  a  wife  o'  my  am 180 

I  hold  it,  Sir,  my  bounden  duty  ....  132 

I  iang  hae  thought,  my  youthfu*  friend    .  70 

Ilk  care  and  fear,  when  thou  art  near.     .  234 

I'll  ay  ca'  in  by  yon  town 234 

I  married  with  a  scolding  wife    ....  256 

I  met  a  lass,  a  bonie  lass 164 

I  mind  it  weel,  in  early  date 125 

I  murder  hate  by  field  or  flood    ....  171 

I'm  three  times  doubly  o'er  your  debtor  .  103 

In  coming  by  the  brig  o'  Dye     ....  257 

Inhuman  man  !  curse  on  thy  barb'rous  art  96 
In    Mauchline    there  dwells   six  proper 

young  Belles 243 

In  politics  if  thou  wouldst  mix    ....  170 

In  simmer  when  the  hay  was  mawn  .  .  204 
Instead  of  a  Song,  boys,  I'll  give  you  a 

Toast 168 

In  this  strange  land,  this  uncouth  clime  .  150 
In  Torbolton,  ye  ken,  there  are  proper 

young  men 244 

In  vain  would, Prudence,  with  decorous 

sneer 159 

In  wood  and  wild,  ye  warbling  throng     .  153 

I  sec  a  form,  I  see  a  face    .     .     .     ...     .  193 

I  sing  of  a  Whistle,  a  Whistle  of  worth    .  105 

Is  there  a  whim-inspired  fool .     ....  173 

Is  there,  for  honest  poverty 227 

Is  this  thy  plighted,  fond  regard     .     .     .  221 

It  is  na,  Jean,  thy  bonie  face 257 

It  was  a'  for  our  rightfu'  King  .  .  .  .  257 
It  was  in  sweet  Senegal  that  my  foes  did 

me  enthral 255 

It  was  the  charming  month  of  May      .    .  219 

It  was  upon  a  Lammas  night 222 

Jenny   M'Craw,   she    has    ta'en    to    the 

heather 165 

Jockey's  ta'en  the  parting  kiss    .     •    .    .  210 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John 201 

Kcmble,  thou  cur'st  my  unbelief     .    ♦    .  ijt 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES. 


33* 


Page 

Ken  ye  ought  o*  Captain  Grose  ?.    .    .    .  232 

Kilmarnock  Wabsters,  fidge  and  claw .    .  29 

Kind  Sir,  I've  read  your  paper  through   .  no 

Know  thou,  O  stranger  to  the  fame     .     .  173 

Lament  him,  Mauchline  husbands  a    .    .  174 

Lament  in  rhyme,  lament  in  prose  ...  33 

Landlady,  count  the  lawin 258 

Lass,  when  your  mither  is  frae  hame  .  .  164 
Last  May  a  braw  wooer  cam  down  the 

lang  glen X94 

Late'crippl'd  of  an  arm,  and  now  a  leg    .  88 

Let  not  woman  e'er  complain 219 

Let  other  heroes  boast  their  scars   ...  162 

Let  other  Poets  raise  a  fracas     ....  6 

Life  ne'er  exulted  in  so  rich  a  prize     .    .  109 

Light  lay  the  earth  on  Billy's  breast    .     .  160 

Like  Esop's  lion,  Burns  says,  sore  I  feel .  150 
Lone  on  the  bleaky  hills    the  straying 

flocks 15a 

Long  life,  my  Lord,  an'  health  be  yours  .  150 

Lord,  to  account  who  dares  thee  call  .    .  175 

Lord,  we  thank  an'  thee  adore    ....  165 

Loud  blaw  the'  frosty  breezes .....  196 

Louis,  what  reck  I  by  thee 208 

Mark  yonder  pomp  of  costly  fashion   .     .  X93 

Maxwell,  if  merit  here  you  crave     .     .     .  161 

Musing  on  the  roaring  ocean 197 

My  blessings  on  ye,  honest  wife      ...  176 

My  bottle  is  my  holy  pool .    .    .    \    .    .  166 

My  Chloris,  mark  how  green  the  groves  .  218 

My  curse  upon  thy  venom'd  stang  .  .  .  101 
My  Father  was  a  Farmer  upon  the  Cajrrick 

border  O.    .    • 238 

"My  Harry  was  a  gallant  gay 251 

My  heart  is  a  breaking,  dear  Tittie     .    .  201 

My  heart  is  sair,  I  dare  na  tell  ....  208 

My  heart  is  wae,  and  unco  wae  .  .  .  .  278 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart  is 

not  here -    ..  212 

My  heart  was  an ce  as  bly the  and  free.    ..  258 

My  honour'd  Colonel;  deep  I  feel    .     .     .  121 

My  lord  a-hunting  he  is  garte.     .....  246 

My  Lord,  I  know  your  noble'ear  ...  98 
My  Lov'd,  my  honor'd,  much  respected 

friend !..,....          ...  6r 

My  love  she's  but  a  lassie  yet  .  .  „  .  258 
My  Peggy's  face,  my  Peggy's  form     .     .211 

Nae  gentle  dames,  tho'  e'er  sae  fair     .     .  210 

Nae  heathen  name  shall  I  prefix  .  .  .  140 
No  churchman  am  I  for  to  rail  and  to 

write 224 

No  more  of  your  guests,  be  they  titled  or 

not ' IT9 

No  more,  ye  warblers  of  the  wood — no 

more  ! 118 

No  sculptur'd  marble  here,  nor  pompous 

lay  ... 123 

No  song  nor  dance  I  bring  from  yon  great 

city 109 

No  Stewart  art  thou,  Galloway  ....  169 

Now  bank  an' brae  are  claith'd  in  green  .  214 

Now  health  forsakes  that  angel  face  .  .  161 
Now  in  her  green  mantle  bly  the  Nature 

arrays 190 


Pag* 

Now  Kennedy,  if  foot  or  horse  .    .    .    .151 

Now  nature  deeds  the  flowery  lea  .    .    •  189 

Now  Nature  hangs  her  mantle  green  .    .  85 

Now  Robin  lies  in  his  last  lair    ....  124 

Now  rosy  May  comes  in  wi'  flowers    .     .  228 

Now  simmer  blinks  on  flowery  braes  .     .  196 

Now  spring  has  clad  the  groves  in  green .  228 

Now  westlin  winds  and  slaught'ring  guns  223 

O  a'  ye  pious  godly  flocks  .    .    ...    ,    .  126" 

O  bonie  was  yon  rosy  brier X93 

'  O  cam  ye  here  the  fight  to  shun    .    ,    ,  230 

O  can  ye  labour  lea,  young  man      ,    .    ♦  164 

O,  could  I  give  thee  India's  wealth  _  .    .  153 

O  Death,  hadst  thou  but  spar'd  his  life    .  167 

O  Death  !  thou  tyrant  fell  and  bloody !    .  83 
O'er  the  mist-shrouded  cliffs  of  the  lone 

mountain  straying »    «  138 

Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw    .     .     .  199 
Of  all  the  numerous  ills  that  hurt  our 

peace ,  158 

O  gie  my-  love  brose,  brose     .....  164 

O  Goudie  !  terror  o' the  .Whigs  ....  141 

O,  had  the  malt  thy  strength  of  mind  ..    .119 

Oh  !  had  each  Scot  of  ancient  times    .    ..  172 

Oh  !  I  am  come  to  the  low  countrie     .    .  260 

Oh,  open  the  door,  some  pity  to  shew.     .  181 

O  how  can  I  be  blithe  and  glad  .     .     .    .  214 

O  how  shall  I,  unskilfu',  try  ...  .     .    .  259 

O  ken  ye  what  Meg  o'  the  Mill  has  gotten  182 

O  Kenmure's  on  and  awa,  Willie  !      .    •.  259 

O,  Lady  Mary  Ann  ........  260 

O  Lassie,  art  thou  sleeping  yet?     .    ,    ,  191 

Old  Winter  with  his  frosty  beard     .     .     .  -Ii8 

O  leave  novels,  ye  Mauchline  belles    .     .  242 

O  leeze  me  on  my  spinnin  wheel     ...  203 

O  Logan,  sweetly  didst  thou  glide  .     .    .  183 

O  Lord,  when  hunger  pinches  sore .     .     .  175 
O  luve  will  venture  in,  where  it  daur  na 

weel  be  seen 205 

O  Mally 's  meek,  Mally 's  sweet      .     .    .  261 

O  Mary,  at  thy  window  be 237 

O  May,  thy  morn  was  ne'er  sae. sweet     .  208 

O  meikle  thinks  my  luve  o'  my  beauty     .  202 

O  merry  hae  I  been  tee  thin'  a  heckle  .    .  260 

O  mirk,  mirk  is  this  midnight  hour .     .     .  t8i 

O,  my  luve 's  like  a  red,  red  rose     .     .     .  209 

On  a  bank  of  flowers,  m  a  summer  day    .  240 

On  Cessnock  banks  a  lassie  dwells  .     .     .  234 
Once  fondly  lov'd,  and  still  remember'd 

dear 140 

One  night  as  I  did  wander 242 

One  Queen  Artemisia,  as  old  stories  tell  .  167 

On  peace  and  rest  my  mind  was  bent- .     .  247 

O,  once  I  lov'd  a  bonie  lass    .          ...  233 

O  Philly,  happy  be  that  day 219 

O  poortith  cauld,  and  restless  love  .     .     .  180 

Oppress'd  with  grief,  oppress'd  with  care  60 

O  raging  fortune's  withering  blast    .     .     .  240 

O  rattlin',  roarin'  Willie     ......  261 

O  rough,  rude,  ready-witted  Rankine  .     .  81 

Orthodox,  orthodox 153 

Orthodox,  Orthodox,  wha  believe  in  John 

Knox 99 

O  sad  and  heavy  should  I  part    ....  aoa 

O  saw  ye  bonie  Lesley 839 


33* 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES. 


JPage 

O  saw  ye  my  dear,  my  Phely?  ....  218 

O  saw  ye  my  dearie,  my  Eppie  M 'Nab ? .  276 

O  stay,  sweet  warbling  woodlark,  stay     .  192 

O  steer  her  up,  and  haud  her  gaun  .     .    .  262 

O  that  I  had  ne'er  been  married      .     .     .  277 

O  Thou  dread  Pow'r,  who  reign' st  above  67 

O  Thou  Great  Being .!  what  Thou  art .     .  68 

O  Thou,  in  whom  we  live  and  move    .     .  165 

O  thou  pale  Orb,  that  silent  shines       .     .  59 

O  Thou,  the  first,  the  greatest  friend   .     .  68 

O  Thou  unknown,  Almighty  Cause      .     .  66 

O  Thou,  wha  in  the  Heavens  dost  dwell .  130 

O  ihou  !  whatever  title  suit  thee      .    ~    .  31 

O  Thou,  who  kindly  dost  provide    .     .     .  123 

O  thou  whom  Poetry  abhors  .     .     .     .     .  172 

Our  thrissles  flourish'd  fresh  and  fair  .     .  253 

Out  over  the  Forth  I  look  to  the  north     .  214 

O,  wat  ye  wha's  in  yon  town 209 

O  wat  ye  what  my  minnie  did     .     .    *     .  164 

O,  were  I  on  Parnassus'  hill !      .     .     .     .  200 

O  were  my  love  yon  lilac  fair      ....  217 

O,  wert  thou  in  the  cauld  blast  ....  210 

O  wha  is  she  that  lo'es  me      .....  231 

O  wha  my  babie-clouts  will  buy?  .  .  .  213 
O,  whar  did  ye  get  that  hauver  meal 

bannock? 262 

O  whare  live  ye  my  bonie  lass    ....  274 

O  wha  will  to  Saint  Stephen's  house    .     .  262 

O  whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad  .  185 

O  why  the  deuce  should  1  repine    ,     .     .  247 

O,  Willie  brew'd  a  peck  o'  maut  .  .  .  200 
O  wilt   thou   go  wi'  me,  sweet  Tibbie 

Dunbar? 251 

O  ye  wha  are  sae  guid  yoursel    .    .-    .     .  41 

O  ye,  whose  cheek  the  tear  of  pity  stains  174 

Peg  Nicholson  was  a  gude  bay  mare  .    .  155 

Powers  celestial,  whose  protection  ...  235 

Rash  mortal,  and  slanderous  poet,   thy 

name 150 

Raving  winds  around  her  blowing  .     .     .  197 

Revered  defender  of  beauteous  Stuart     .  115 

Right,  Sir  !  your  text,  I'll  prove  it  true    ,  30 

Rusticity's  ungainly  form 175 

Sad  thy  tale,  thou  idle  page 97 

Sae  fair  her  hair,  sae  brent  her  brow   .     .  254 

Sae  flaxen  were  her  ringlets 1 88 

Say,  Sages,  what's  the  charm  on  earth    .  156 

Scots,  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled     ...  227 

Searching  auld  wives' barrels      ....  170 

Sensibility,  how  charming 239 

She  is  a  winsome,  wee  thing 180 

She's  fair  and  fause  that  causes  my  smart  204 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot     •     •  226 

Shrewd  Willie  Smellie  to  Crochallan  came  1 16 

Sic  a  reptile  was  Wat  ^ 175 

Simmer's  a  pleasant  time 263 

Sing  on,  sweet  Thrush,  upon  the  leafless 

bough "9 

Sir,  as  your  mandate  did  request     .     .    .  104 

Sir,  o'er  a  gill  I  gat  your  card  ....  133 
Sleep'st    thou,   or   wak'st   thou,    fairest 

creature  ? *98 


Slow  spreads  the  gloom  my  soul  desires  .  240 

So  heavy,  passive  to  the  tempests'  shocks  231 

Some  books  are  lies  frae  end  to  end    .    .  19 

Some  hae  rr.eat,  and  canna  eat   ....  155 

Spare  me  thy  vengeance,  Galloway     .     .  169 

Stay,  my  charmer,  can  you  leave  me?      .  197 

Still  anxious  to  secure  your  partial  favour  112 

Strait  is  the  spot  and  green  the  sod .     .     .  280 

Streams  that  glide  in  orient  plains  .  .  .  216 
Sweet  closes  the  evening  on  Craigie-burn- 

wood 251 

Sweetest  May,  let  love  inspire  thee     .     .  242 

Sweet  fa's  the  eve  on  Craigie-burn  ...  191 

Sweet  flow'ret,  pledge  o'  meikle  love    .    .  102 

Sweet  naivete  of  feature 155 

Talk  .not  to  me  of  savages  *;»«  •    ...  156 

That  there  is  falsehood  in  his  looks      .     .  170 

The  bairns  gat  out  wi'  an  unco  shout  .     .  249 

The  black-headed  eagle 165 

The  blude  red  rose  at  Yule  may  blaw  .     .  263 

The  boniest  lad  that  e'er  I  saw   ....  264 

The  Catrine  woods  were  yellow  seen  .     .  200 

The  cats  like  kitchen 163 

The  cooper  o'  Cuddie  cam  here  awa    .     .  264 

The  day  returns,  my  bosom  burns  .  .  .  200 
The  De'il  cam  fiddling  thro'  the  town  .  .216 
The  Devil  got  notice  that  Grose  was  a- 

dying 172 

Thee,  Caledonia,  thy  wild  heaths  among.  123 

The  flower  it  blaws,  it  fades,  it  fa's.     .     •  248 

The  friend  whom  wild  from  wisdom's  way  120 

The  gloomy  night  is  gath'ring  fast  .  .  .  225 
The  graybeard,  Old  Wisdom,  may  boast 

of  bis  treasures .  171 

The  heather  was  blooming,  the  meadows 

were  mawn •  275 

Their  groves  o'  sweet  myrtles  let  foreign 

lands  reckon 191 

The  King's  most  humble  servant  I  ...  166 

The  laddies  by  the  banks  o'  Nith    ...  277 

The  lamp  of  day,  with  ill-presaging  glare  138 

The  last  braw  bridal  that  I  was  at  .  .  .  165 
The  lazy  mist  hangs  from  the  brow  of  the 

hill 198 

The  lovely  lass  o'  Inverness 208 

The  man,  in  life  wherever  plac'd     ...  68 

The  night  was  still,  and  o'er  the  hill    .    .  153 

The  noble  Maxwells  and  their  powers      .  265 

The  ploughman  he's  a  bonie  lad     .     .     .  268 

The  poor  man  weeps— here  Gavin  sleeps  173 

There  came  a  piper  out  o'  Fife  ....  165 

There  liv'd  a  lass  in'  yonder  dale     ...  274 

There  lived  a  carle  on  Kellyburn  braes  .  266 
There's  auld  Rob  Morris  thatwons  in  yon 

glen 179 

There's  a  youth  in  this  city,  it  were  a 

great  pity •     •  212 

There's  braw  braw  lads  on  Yarrow  braes  181 

There's  death  in  the  cup— sae  beware  !    .  157 

There's  naethin  like  the  honest  nappy  !    .  161 

There's  news,  lasses,  news     .     .     .     .     .  277 

There's  nought  but  care  on  ev'ry  han'  .  223 
There  was  a  bonie  lass,  and  a  bonie,  bonie 

Jass        , 2$0 

There  was  a  lad  was  born  in  Kyle  ...  336 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES. 


333 


243 

208 

155 

.38 


Page 
There  was  a  lass,  and  she  was  fair  .  .  .  184 
There  was  a  lass,  they  ca'd  her  Meg  .  .  267 
There  was  a  wife  wonn'd  in  Gockpen  .  .  277 
There  was  once  a  day,  "but  old  Time  then 

was  young 229 

There  were  five  Carlins  in  the  south    .    .     248 
There  were  three  Kings  into  the  east .     .     220 
The    simple    Bard,  rough  at  the   rustic 
plough.    ............      24 

The  small  birds  rejoice  in  the  green  leaves 

returning 

The  smiling  spring  comes  in  rejoicing  . 
The  Solemn  League  and  Covenant  .  . 
The  sun  had  closed  the  winter  day  .  .  . 
The  Tailor  fell  thro'  the   bed,  thimbles 

an'  a' 265 

The  Thames  flows  proudly  to  the  sea  .    .    203 

The  tither  morn 265 

The  weary  pund,  the  weary  pund  .  .  .  268 
The  wind  blew  hollow  frae  the  hills  .  .  89 
The  Winter  it  is  past,  and  the  simmer 

comes  at  last 243 

The  wintry  west  extends  his  blast  ...  61 
They  snool  me  sair,  and  haud.me  down  .  203 
Thickest  night,  o'erhang  my  dwelling !    .     197 

Thind  am  I,  my  faithful  fair 186 

Thir.c  be  the  volumes,  Jessy  fair  ...  118 
This  Day  Time  winds  th'  exhausted  chain  1x6 
This  wot  ye  all  whom  it  concerns  .  .  .  in 
Tho' cruel  fate  should  bid  us  part  .  .  .  211 
Thou  flattering  mark  of  friendship  kind  .  156 
Though  fickle  Fortune  has  deceiv'd  me  .  159 
Thou  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie  .  .  .  218 
Thou  lingering  star,  with  less'ning  ray  .  241 
Thou  of  an  independent  mind  ....  1x7 
Thou's  welcome,  wean !  mishanter  fa'  me  140 
Thou  whom  chance  may  hither  lead  .  .  82 
Thou,    who    thy   honour   as    thy    God 

rever'st 90 

Tho'  women's  minds  like  winter  winds  .  24X 
Through  and  through  the  inspired  leaves  157 
Tis  Friendship's  pledge,  my  young,  fair 

friend  . 114 

To  Riddel,  much-lamented  man-.  .  .  .  157 
To  thee,  lov*d  Nith,  thy  gladsome  plains  247 
To  you,  Sir,  this  summons  I've  sent  .  .  280 
True  hearted  was  he,  the  sad  swain  o'  the 

Yarrow .     182 

Turn  again,  thou  fair  Eliza 204 

'Twas  even — the  dewy  fields  were  green  178 
Twas  in  that  place  o'  Scotland's  isle  .  .  1 
Twas  in  the  seventeen  hunder  year  .  .  272 
.'Twas  na  her  bonie  blue  ee  was  my  ruin  .  192 
Twas  where  the  birch  and  sounding  thong 
are  pt/d 135 

Upon  a  simmer  Sunday  morn  ....  14 
Upon  that-night,  when  Fairies  light  .  .  44 
Up  wi'  the  carles  of  Dysart    .....    e68 

Wae  is  my  heart,  and  the  tear's  in  my  ee  275 

Wae  worth  thy  power,  thou  cursed  leaf! .  158 

Weary  fa*  you,  Duncan  Gray     ....  269 

We  came  na  here  to  view  your  warks .     .  168 

Wee,  modest,  crimson -tipped  flow'r     .     .  C9 


Wee,  sleekit,  cow'rin,  tim'rous  beastie     . 

Wee  Willie  Gray,  and  his  leather  wallet . 

Wha  is  that  at  my  bower  door?  .     .    ;    . 

Whan  I  sleep  I  dream  ....... 

Whare  hae  ye  been  sae  braw,  lad  ? .     .    . 

What  ails  ye  now,  ye  lousie  bitch  .    .     . 

What  can  a  young  lassie,  what  shall  a 
young  lassie .' . 

What  dost  thou  in  that  mansion  fair?  .    . 

What  needs  this  din  about  the  town  o' 
Lon'on 

What  of  earls  with  whom  you  have  supt . 

What  will  I  do  gin  my  Hoggie  die  ?    .    . 

Wha  will  buy  my  troggin 

When  biting  Boreas,  fell  and  doure      .    . 

When  by  a  generous  public's  kind  acclaim 

When  chapman  billies  leave  the  street     . 

When  chill  November's  surly  blasti.     .     . 

When  death's  dark  stream  I  ferry  o'er     . 

When  ,  deceased,  to  the  devil  went 

down    .     . 

When  first  I.  came  to  Stewart  Kyle     .     . 

When  first  Lsaw  fair  Jeanie's  face  .    .    . 

When  first  my  brave  Johnnie  lad    .  * .     . 

When  Guilford  good  our  Pilot  stood    .     . 

When  I  think  on  the  happy  days     .    .     . 

When  Januar'  wind  was  blawing  cauld    . 

When  lyart  leaves  bestrew  the  yird     .     . 

When    Nature    her    great    master-piece 
design'd .    M    . 

When  o'er  the  hill  the  eastern  star  .    .    . 

When  the  drums  do  beat 

When  wild  war's  deadly  blast,  was  blawn 

Where  are  the  joys  I  have  met  in  the 
morning 

Where,  braving  angry  winter's  storms      . 

Where  Cart  rins  rowin  to  the  sea     .    ... 

While  at  the  stook  the  shearers  cowr  .     . 

While    briers    an'    woodbines    budding 
green . 

While   Europe's  eye  is  fix'd  on  mighty 

things 

While  larks  with  little  wing 

While  new-ca'd  kye  rowte  at  the  stake     . 
While  virgin  Spring,  by  Eden's  flood  .     . 
While  winds  frae  aff  Ben-Lomond  blaw  . 
Whoe'er  he  be  that  sojourns  here    .    .    . 
Whoe'er  thou  art,  O  reader,  know  .    .     . 
Whom  will  you  send  to  London  town  .    . 
Whose  is  that  noble,  dauntless  brow  ? 
Why  am  I  loth  to  leave  this  earthly  scene? 
Why,  why  tell  thy  lover    ...... 

Why,  ye  tenants  of  the  lake   .'    .     .     .    . 

Wi'  braw  new  branks  in  mickle  pride  .     . 
Willie  Wastle  dwalt  on  Tweed    .... 

Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary .     .     . 

Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie  ? 

With  Pegasus  upon  a  day .     . '  .     .     .     . 
Wow,  but  your  letter  made  me  vauntie  !  . 


Page 
54 
257 
214 
274 
269 
165 

202 
169 

136 
159 

269 
271 

55 
161 

91 

65 

123 

176 
239 
278 
269 
221 
274 
249 
48 

86 
179 
259 
237 

217 
198 
227 
128 

75 

xtx 

184 

77 

97 

57. 
163 

173 
269 

134 
67 
229 
132 
157 
207 
236 
186 
158 
108 


Ve  banks,  and  braes,  and  streams  around  22G 

Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  bonie  Doon  .    .     .  206 

Ye  flowery  banks  o'  bonie  Doon ....  206 

Ye  gallants  bright,  I  red  you  right ...  211 

Ye  hae  lien  a' wrang,  lassie 164 


334 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES. 


Page 

Ye  Irish  Lords,  ye  Knights  an'  Squires  .  9 
Ye  Jacobites  by  name,  give  an  ear,  give 

an  ear 273 

Ye  maggots  feast  on  Nicol's  brain  ,  .  .  165 
Ye  men  of  wit  and  wealth,  why  all  this 

sneering 171 

Ye  sons  of  old  Klilie,  assembled  by  Willie  273 

Ye  sons  of  sedition,  give  ear  to  my  song  .  158 

Yestreen  I  had  a  pint  o' wine .     ^    .     .     .  215 

Yestreen  I  met  you  on  the  moor  .  .  .  199 
Ye  true  'Loyal  Natives,'  attend  to  my 

song     i 158 


Page 
246 


Yon  wand'ring  rill,  that  marks  Iht  hill  . 
Yon  wild  mossy  mountains  sae  lofty  and 

wide .     ,     . 

Young  Jamie,  pride  of  a'  the  plain  .  ♦  , 
Young  Jockey  was  the  blithest  lad  .  .  . 
Young  Peggy  blooms  our  bonniest  lass  . 
Your  billet,  sir,  I  grant  receipt  .  t  .  . 
Your  News  and  Review,  Sir,  I've  read 

through  and  through,"  Sir  .....  133 
You're  welcome  to  Despots,  Dumourier  .  242 
You're  welcome,  Willie  Stewart.  ,  .  .  177 
Yours  this  moment  I  unseal 159 


*»3 
275 
233 
235 
176 


JB  37030 


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544.^44 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


